A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

The result of Great War and Russian Civil War was a Russia that very much resembles OTL Russia (with the difference that White Russia was kept, but the Karelian Peninsula was lost). Inevitably, there are many who dream of restoring the empire of the Tsars. In addition, TTL's Russia is very strong economically, has not suffered from the pest and has won the Far East War. This leads to a certain over-confidence, to which many Russians seem to be prone. - In balance, you have a very substantial anti-war movement - and the restraint of the ruling elite not to enter a war of mutual destruction with Germany. For the time being, Shepilov has successfully averted the regain-the-Ukraine syndrome, but such a popular movement may pop up any time again.
 
One must wait till it comes.
(Arthur Conan Doyle)

The woman was boozed up to the brim, unable to do anything. Had she really killed her husband? With dressmaking scissors? Some five or six hours ago? Had she been sloshed back then already? Or had she only got dead drunk afterwards? – Well, the forensic team would find out. It wasn’t that complicated – only the woman, her dead husband – and the house staff who hadn’t been present during the act. Hermann Kizwete wasn’t unduly worried, although some aspects of the case appeared strange.

Normally, young and sexy wives were not killing their old and rich husbands, but were waiting for them to die from proper natural causes. The deceased had been stark naked and the woman was wearing indecent lingerie; so, some sexual adventure ought to have been taking place, not a gory murder. – Okay, his staff was going to interrogate the house staff. That would shed some light onto the circumstances in general. And in a day or so, the woman should be fit to be questioned. One was going to find out…

Yeah, it was bloody routine business. – In the bombing case, however, he had made a little bit of progress recently. Asking around had produced two strangers staying at a modest downtown hotel in the right timeframe. The registration form said they were Hans K’runa and Ulf Gobinda from Duala. The two dudes existed indeed, in Duala, but they never had left that place. The hotel staff didn’t remember much; it had been too long ago. The blokes had behaved like normal business travellers. – How had they come to Tanga? And from where?

Hermann had also talked in confidence with Herbert K’nilowe, the general manager of the bombed plant. The man thought US competitors might be behind the attack. That was an interesting notion. Could one trace alleged K’runa and Gobinda to the business end of US representation? Not in Middle Africa, as there was none, but in the WAU… And who might do that? Hermann was tied to Tanga. But Herbert was confident to get the Sikuku Enterprises corporate lawyers do the stunt…
 
Our studies have shown that all cases of typhoid of this type have arisen by contact, that is, carried directly from one person to another. There was no trace of connection to drinking water.
(Robert Koch)

The Pragnell samples had been overrun by RV. Obviously, Mr. Pragnell had been lucky to never have met the Whitby Woman. – Okay, that was the simple part of it. There nevertheless might have occurred subtle changes to RV. One had to find out… Konrad Schabunde was looking forward to a long sequence of tricky work. The boss, realising that he had arrived at his own wit’s end, was supporting him against Professor Ramsauer’s bitching – and the impatience of the soldiers.

The military types wanted to have RV destroyed. They considered it too dangerous. If no counteragent could be found, there was no reason to store it, was there? – Professor Ramsauer was horrified by the notion, but he was on their payroll – and evidently didn’t have the spine to kick against the pricks. The boss, as developer of the antidotes against BLAM and NED, though, seemed to be in their good books. He, so far, was still able to appease the soldiers. But for how long?

Felix and Dieter had been reinforced by Kurt and Ekki, who previously had been assisting the boss. That enabled Konrad to execute more elaborate test series. Had Mr. Pragnell’s blood modified RV? And if yes, would one be able to detect it? And if there were changes, would they be significant? – It was a faint hope; Konrad knew it. What else could he do? Might the soldiers be able to catch another immune? There had to be more of them…

The Snowpushers weren’t enthusiastic. The hunt for Mr. Pragnell had been a major operation – and had only produced Mr. Pragnell, despite the employment of many men and sophisticated equipment. But once again, Professor Misuku was able to sway them. And so, while Konrad and his fellow students were preparing their tests, the military were – grudgingly but meticulously – preparing another search mission – this time in the area Birmingham – Manchester.
 
I can’t go back to yesterday – because I was a different person then.
(Lewis Carroll)

The intruders were gone again. They had searched for her, but hadn’t found her. That was because they were stupid. You can’t search urban areas with a handful of folks. They had aircraft, helicopters, fancy vehicles and God-knows-what – but no host to rummage through the metropolitan underground. In the open field it might work, but not here in Birmingham. Perhaps they had caught someone out there – and had left because of that. Or they had just resigned…

As always, Maggie was hungry. Living alone was goofy, now that no more goodies could be found in the former stores and the houses. Had the intruders left edible trash? She had to check… But carefully, there might be traps… Yeah, they had fed from combat rations – and left behind a pile of half-empty packages. Jam, canned meat, biscuits, even butter, wonderful… That should feed her for the next three or four weeks. Lucky girl!

But it had been a trap, must have been – because they seized her the next night. Caught in sleep… Had they poisoned the food? Administered a tranquiliser? She was in a small container now. And the container seemed to be inside a flying helicopter. The continuous jolting made her puke – and her helpless situation made her cry with rage. Bugger it!
 
The unprepared mind cannot see the outstretched hand of opportunity.
(Alexander Fleming)

The Birmingham Bitch wasn’t cooperating; she kept ranting and trying to bite the hands that fed her. But one had her blood and her tissue; that was what mattered. – She didn’t have RV. But RV didn’t thrive in her blood. Something in it had to canker the tiny scoundrels. One had to find this something…

It meant hope – after so many vain attempts to cope with RV. The boss was agitated – and even Professor Ramsauer was showing favourable interest. The military types were pleased to hear that progress was around the corner – and that, in all probability, no further search missions would be required.

Konrad and his team were working around the clock. It took them four days to identify the specific antibody which was disabling RV. Could it be cultivated? – That turned out to be the big stumbling block. The little bugger was refusing to grow anywhere but in the blood of Birmingham Bitch.

What made BB’s blood so special? The antibody was already there, it wasn’t a reaction to RV – it had been produced for another purpose, it seemed. It just happened to tackle RV – but not NED, by the way. – Okay, if one wasn’t able to cultivate the little bugger, one had to find out what it was doing to RV – and to reproduce that effect.

That, however, was bacteriologic stuff, evidently, and the boss, Professor Misuku, was now taking over again, leaving Konrad – alone – to deal with any helpful viruses he might find.
 
Perhaps my children will live in stone houses and walled towns – not I.
(Genghis Khan)

As the Zhyoltozhópi were flocking into Manchuria, the Russians were beginning to reenter Outer Mongolia in force. The risk had been assessed as fractional. Some increased laryngeal cancer might still occur, but this peril could easily be countered by iodine dispensation. The natural resources of the country were waiting to be exploited again. And, yes, the Mongolians were also waiting – to be allowed to live in their country again.

Of course, the armed forces came first. They never had evacuated the territory altogether, but had only reduced presence to a minimum. Now, the garrisons could be manned again. If the Zhyoltozhópi were sending three armies to Manchuria, the Russian Empire could off-handedly deploy three armies to Mongolia, two of which were tank armies. After all, this was ideal ground for the operation of large armoured formations.

It should teach the Zhyoltozhópi that they weren’t alone in these climes. Their forces deployed to Manchuria did threaten the Primorskaya Oblast, but the Russian host deployed to Mongolia was threatening to cut off Manchuria. And the Imperial Air Force could now occupy forward bases, which enabled them to conveniently reach out to all of China with the bombing force.

All installations had been diligently mothballed upon the decision to evacuate Mongolia, taking them into use again should not be a big deal. It was summer; hence the weather could be expected to comply as well. – Well, initial experience told that the diligence couldn’t have been pristine back then. But nevertheless, progress was rapid – and Russian soldiers were well accustomed to living in tents during the summer months…
 
It is the curse of humanity that it learns to tolerate even the most horrible situations by habituation.
(Rudolf Virchow)

Bingo! It had been done. The boss had carried it off. It was another antidote; one that rendered RV innocuous without killing it – and without killing the host. It wasn’t perfect, because it was washing out rather quickly. But that didn’t matter; one could renew the dose indefinitely without any negative consequences. It didn’t affect NED, but it was compatible with the NED antidote.

It had been hard work indeed. Felix, Dieter, Kurt and Ekki were completely exhausted still. They were so tired they couldn’t sleep properly. – The while, Konrad Schabunde kept working on his virus samples. His job wasn’t done yet. Nevertheless, he had to pack up and get ready for travel.

One would be shuttled to Berlin. The boss was going to be nobilised: Professor Doktor Doktor Eberhart von Misuku. He would be decorated with the Grand Cross of the Roter Adlerorden and the Pour-le-Mérite for Science and Arts. His humble assistants would receive the Roter Adlerorden First Class.

Thereafter, the boss, Kurt and Ekki were scheduled to return home to Duala. Konrad, Felix and Dieter would come back to the Isle of Sheppey – to continue the work on the viruses – and to endure Professor Ramsauer’s bad temper…

Well, it wasn’t quite fair. Ramsauer had had no part in the development of the RV antidote; that was true. But he had discovered RV – and had seen that an excellent lab had been installed on the Isle of Sheppey. But the military types, Ramsauer’s taskmasters, had decided the issue: no award for the bloke, he could be glad not to be fired for ineptitude.
 
To achieve the possible, we must attempt the impossible again and again.
(Hermann Hesse)

The government had unblocked Operation Donars Hammer at long last. Until now, one had lost half a year already. But until everything and everyone was in place again and working, another six months were due to pass. One year lost… because of nothing.

The old general had been right: build a fence and shoot everyone approaching. But there was no use in pondering; one had to move ahead. Director Kammler had issued all necessary orders to set in motion the long-prepared resumption of the Irish Operation.

One was going to pursue NPP, of course, although the old general was right once again: fusion drive was superior. Yet, doing the one thing didn’t exclude doing other things as well. The more irons one had in the fire the more chances of success there ought to be.

NASA was known to be working on NPP. That – in itself – was normal; scientific matters couldn’t be kept secret forever in this world. But losing one year – because of some old men’s fears – was frustrating. One had already lost two years in the lunar programme – and the Russians had drawn level.

Now, one – most probably – had lost the lead in NPP matters – and had to struggle for catching up with the Ivans. Well, one still might surprise them with fusion drive – if that worked at all…
 
There is a better way for everything. Find it!
(Thomas Alva Edison)

As always, things were, with time, getting more complicated than previously conceived. The Reichsbahn was, for many a long year, planning to electrify. German power supply had grown to be more than sufficient to support such a move. But hardly had one finalised the plans, when the ministry of economy had announced the intention to start the introduction of a new generation of nuclear plants.

Unfortunately, the new plants were to be installed in situ, at the location of the plants to be replaced. That meant, de facto, the shutdown of individual plants for many years. In theory, the new plant was to be erected while the old one kept working; then, after a short switchover time, the new plant would take over. That, at least, had been the original scheme. But it wouldn’t work out that way, the ministry of economy had now communicated.

In fact, approximately one third of the nuclear plants were going to be out of order at a time – for the next fifteen years or so. That would make domestic power expensive – and extra demand even more costly. Fritz Frohne, the Reichsbahn director, had now to decide on the way ahead. He could postpone electrification – or he could go for another solution.

Right now, the Reichsbahn was running on coal. That was working perfectly – and had been economical, hitherto. But it required a huge workforce. And manpower had grown expensive as well, after Germany had lost so many lives to the pest. Electrification would substantially reduce the body of workers required to keep the trains running. Should one pay the extra charge? Or take the money and build something of one’s own?

Nuclear plants were out of question. They were too expensive and far too complicated for railway folks. But coal power stations were available at a reasonable price. The coal industry, seeing their living endangered, was offering attractive solutions. The number of plants required was manageable: twenty-one. And the Reichsbahn owned the ground needed for their construction.

It could be done in parallel: build the power station and electrify the line sections it was to supply. Then proceed to the next sector. Yes, it looked good. And it was going to keep the domestic coal industry alive. His staff was finalising the paperwork. He was going to propose it to the supervisory council next week.
 
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A pity about the people! They are brave enough comrades, but they have heads like a soapboiler’s.
(Friedrich Schiller)

Perplexed, Feliks Yevgenyevich Pungin was looking at Zhanna the secretary, whose full name was Zhanna Zaionchkovskaya. “What’s that? What have they done?”
“They ran the vacuum truck into the mayor’s sedan! And then, they dragged the mayor out of his vehicle and beat him up!” Zhanna seemed to be vacillating between exhilaration and shock. Mayor Sobchak was a controversial figure: he was known to be utterly corrupt, but he was also doing a lot for the benefit of the Vladivostok citizens.

“They” were Igor, Semyon and Volodya, one of the few remaining vacuum cleaner teams.
“The police have arrested the drunken lot.” explained Zhanna. “But they want us to remove the truck – immediately!”
Pungin groaned. “Okay, can you drive me over?”
“Sure. But the office will be unstaffed in this case…”
“That’s life. Don’t worry. Let’s take the blue Varyág.”

The town was extremely busy this morning. Military reinforcements had been pouring in for weeks; logistical services had been following on their heels. Vladivostok could hardly accommodate them all. Tent camps had sprung up – and parking vehicles were congesting the streets. Zhanna was a careful driver. Hence, they were only slowly gaining ground. Pungin was watching the scenery with curiosity. A lot of changes had occurred – virtually over night. He was often on the road, trying to control the cleaner teams, and every time he was discovering new things.

At long last, the vacuum cleaner truck came into sight. A police officer was waiting for them. The truck was undamaged, more or less, was only showing some additional scratches at the front bumper. Glass fragments on the ground indicated the damage inflicted to the mayor’s vehicle. The police officer turned over the truck keys to Pungin. He grinned sourly. “Your guys were truly pissed. But they delivered a neat flogging to Sobchak the Stoat – and, alas, to his driver, the poor sod. There will be a sentence…”
Pungin shrugged his shoulders. “Won’t help; I’ve never seen them sober. And I won’t miss them if they are jailed. But without them, the city will become even more polluted…”
 
A generation that has taken a beating is always followed by a generation that deals one.
(Otto von Bismarck)

The Junkers aircraft was approaching the greater Chongqing area, from where it would follow – more or less – the course of the Yangtze River to Nánjīng. Hans Kroll, the German foreign minister, checked his watch. Another two hours – or so – until arrival. It was still dark outside. There were some lights below, but it was impossible to make sense out of them. His staff were sleeping, crouched in their seats, except Hans-Heinrich Herwarth von Bittenfeld, the foremost China expert of the foreign office, who had been briefing him until now.

In principle, one had to be grateful for China’s recent show of force in Manchuria. It had definitely diverted Russia’s attention away from Europe – and the Ukraine first of all. But principles were not suitable for politics. The German Empire was taking a strictly neutral line in all matters East Asian. One had no interests in these climes. All these powers had been enemies of Germany in the Great War – Japan most notably, Russia anyway, but as a European power, and also China in the end.

Yes, it was true: the strong man in Nánjīng, Deng Xixian, had been trained by German socialists, by unadventurous SDP folks, after the Great War. But that didn’t make Deng a German, although it perhaps helped to explain some wider aspects of his policy. And it was also true that the core of modern Chinese industry had been established by transfer of surplus German machinery after the Great War. That had been a squirrelly manoeuvre of this mad whizz kid Max Bauer, the current master of the West African Union. But that too counted for nothing nowadays.

Generally, one was glad to keep European and East Asian affairs separate, even while Russia was entangled in both. That also applied to economy. The Chinese had opened their market for US merchandise – and had gained access to the US market in turn. That was fine for the COMECON, as both markets were of no interest for it. – The ultimate aim was to keep China and the US out, that hadn’t changed. One was going to conduct some civilised pourparlers, more wasn’t required.
 
He was a tool of the boss, without brains and backbone.
(Franz Kafka)

The Nyemtsi were restarting their operation on the Irish Isle. That had had to be anticipated, but was unfortunate nevertheless. The site at Shishmarevo was still in its early infancy. The rail link had only just been established. Mikhail Andreyevich Suslov was apprehensive. Preparations at Corcaigh were far advanced; the Nyemtsi had finished several airports, port facilities, rail links and camps before withdrawing. They could be trusted to quickly resume their activities and proceed with building their NPP craft.

Compared to that, progress at Shishmarevo was pathetic. The Yenisei River had been frozen until May, and railway construction had been delayed by unfavourable terrain and bad weather. In fact, there was one single camp operational at Shishmarevo right at the moment, a logging camp. But the railway bridge across the Yenisei was ready at least; the direct linkage between Achinsk and Shishmarevo should help speeding up proceedings from now on.

One had to make good use of the remaining months with acceptable weather. The plan was to push more people to Shishmarevo together with heavy machinery. The actual NPP launch site was to be constructed in the hills north of Shishmarevo, away from the flood plain of the river. One was still checking whether the bulk of components could be built in Achinsk – or Krasnoyarsk, or whether one would be forced to erect basic production facilities at Shishmarevo.

It seemed that the Nyemtsi were pursuing a similar approach, hence the multiple port facilities. But one knew they had just been in train of building a steel plant at Corcaigh, when they had felt compelled to abandon Ireland. If one was forced to do the same, Indrik Zver would not fly in 1961 or 62.
 
Everyone knew it was impossible, until a fool who didn’t know came along and did it.
(Albert von Einstein)

Nothing adverse had happened to the mothballed installations. Doktor Manfred Rüchel felt relieved. It wouldn’t take long to bring them on steam again. And the Krupp folks had indeed made good use of the hiatus; their steel plant was ready for shipping. Because Rotterdam wasn’t operational, they were sending it via Bremerhaven, which was all right for Rüchel. It was their business to get the stuff from Essen to Bremerhaven – and they seemed to have solved the problems involved.

The steel plant was the core project right now. Producing the 4,000 tons pusher plate was no mean feat. But once it had been accomplished, Donars Hammer could take off. Well, real testing could begin at least … The Krupp engineers were quite sanguine. Granted, they never had produced a solid steel disc of eighty metres diameters before, but they had meticulously worked out how they were going to do it. They were also ready to construct a new takeoff pad, as the old concrete structure had not stood the proof.

Rüchel hoped that no immunes would show up, although an antidote had been found for RV. Yet, it was an awkward remedy. It didn’t kill the bug, but was only sedating it. Hence, a man infected with RV had to ingest the antidote for the rest of his life. – But one never had come across any immunes here in Ireland. And one was about to build a fence – and guard it. The old general was right. However, because Krupp had jumped at the opportunity to preproduce the steel plant, one hadn’t lost too much time.

Donars Hammer would beat the Russians – and also the fusion drive project, Rüchel was sure. The Russians had to start from scratch. That meant they were two years behind, at the minimum. And the fusion drive project hadn’t really begun at all. It was a fancy idea, but it hadn’t yet been exposed to the dire facts of life. Once they started assembling the field generator in orbit, said facts were going to hit them. Oh, he didn’t doubt von Weizsäcker’s and Fuchs’s theories, but theories didn’t make spaceships fly.

NPP was simple, if not crude. That made it effective. It would hand the solar system to RRA. Fusion drive, if it should ever work, was much more elegant – and might hand the stars to RRA. But in this case, the old general wasn’t quite right. Fusion drive wasn’t a fact; it was a mere conception still. It might be ready in twenty-five or thirty years. By that time, NPP ships were due to cruise between Earth and the colonies on Mars, in the asteroid belt, on Europa, Ganymede and Titan…
 
All men die, but not all men really live.
(William Wallace)

He was alive! And he was free! Malcolm Little could hardly believe his luck. – It had rained, no, poured down, for days without respite. Of course, convict labour had gone ahead without respite too. When the mighty mudslide had hit the Cerro Azul penal camp, he had been on the move to empty his wheelbarrow. Somehow, the mud surge had carried him away without drowning him, although he had certainly believed his hour had come.

The camp was gone, no survivors, said the newspaper he had stolen from a trash bin in Upata. That was fine for him. He was heading straight east. The People’s Republic of Sranan was his destination. It was an ally of Venezuela, hence transit should be an easygoing affair. He wasn’t wanted, because he was dead. Nobody was looking for him.

He would pretend to be a citizen of Sranan, born in the former English part. That matched his language skills and his repertoire of communist patter. A poor black comrade from Sranan returning home for the summer holiday, what could be less suspicious?
 
A barking dog is often more useful than a sleeping lion.
(Washington Irving)

His boys were getting better. On the obstacle course they were now performing almost like real soldiers. And marksmanship was improving as well. Okay, most of them had already known how to handle an ordinary rifle, but recently they had become truly proficient serving automatic weapons. Fritz Ma’alongwe was well-nigh contented. There was still ample room for improvement, but the basic skills were pretty much in place.

Fritz was currently drafting the training schedule for the next four weeks. And he was pondering whom to promote to Unteroffizier. That was an important step. Until now, he had been alone. In future, he was going to be able to delegate – like a real company commander. One of the guys would have to act as sergeant major. That could only be Tom Two Elks, the oldest of his charges.

Yeah, things were improving. He had made friend with two of the Peruvians, who were tutoring the farmers. His Spanish was more than poor, and their Spanish was full of queer Quechua terms, but with facial expressions, hands and feet one was getting along. These folks were Indians as well, descendants of the Inca of old, which they seemed to call Tawantinsuyu.

They were zealous to support the Indian nation that was forming in the Opaque Woodlands. If Fritz had understood them correctly, more Peruvians were preparing to move north and reinforce their brethren. Peru was run by Indians and mestizoes – on the working level. But the Spaniards, the offspring of the erstwhile conquerors, were controlling the government and the administration. Hence, many Indians were ready to leave their mountain realm and start a new life in the Opaque Woodlands.

His new friends seemed to dig this development. Tawantinsuyu had been a mighty empire, brought down by Spanish treachery. Now, a new Indian empire was about to form in Central America. Wasn’t that great?
 
But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.
(Bram Stoker)

A strange caper had been going on in Deygbo lately. Doctor Paula G’Norebbe had learnt of it at the Wednesday morning update. It involved Luwele, Kabinga & Hamzi Solicitors from Duala, a lawyer’s office well known to Paula. They were the legal counsellors of Sikuku Enterprises, which CBIC had screened not long ago. Otti Seidel, now going by Sikuku-Seidel, was the boss of one of those enterprises – and she was the daughter of Max Sikuku, the company mogul – and she happened to have been Paula’s fellow student in Berlin ten years ago!

Hence, she had asked for the file. Yes, this was interesting indeed. Egon Hamzi evidently had bribed a clerk working at the US embassy – and had obtained sensitive information. The matter had got busted because the clerk had been stupid enough to spend the money snatched on floosies and fancies. The Americans were making a fuss, but wouldn’t say what Hamzi had stolen. Hamzi had safely returned to Middle Africa, before the affair had blown out.

Of course, CBIC – the Central Bureau of Investment Control, the WAU’s non-military and non-diplomatic foreign intelligence service, had some extra information on the issue. SIRAB, Sikuku’s solid-fuel rocketry branch, had won the contract to outfit the WAU navy with missiles of all kinds – against fierce competition by Northrop and Raytheon from the US. Then, the SIRAB plant at Tanga had been destroyed by a bomb, disabling the company to fulfil its obligations – and Northrop had been given the contract instead.

So, what might Egon Hamzi have found out? Paula could only guess. Did the Middle Africans really believe the ‘Amis’ had sabotaged SIRAB? Had they obtained proof? What would they do now? – She was out of the loop. Her dad would be briefed by her superiors. But she could give Otti a call and have a chat with her. That ought to provide some insights. And it would be good to rehash some reminiscences…
 
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