A Shift in Priorities - Sequel
- Thread starter rast
- Start date
With Europe and north America in turmoil, how's Asia ( especially south eastern Asia) doing?
There’s an awful lot of inactive kindness which is nothing but laziness, not wanting any trouble, confusion, or effort.
(John Steinbeck)
Once the US had disengaged, the Philippines had dropped from the international headlines. And neither the Far East War nor the subsequent trade war had changed that. The economy had boomed, delivering primary materials and foodstuffs to China and her allies had paid. At the same time, profuse development assistance had been received, chiefly from Vietnam and Siam – with Japan taking the backseat. It had been a good time for the Philippines.
GQDD – and the Great Honshu Earthquake – had ended this golden period. Demand had collapsed between nightfall and daybreak. To be sure, Vietnam and Siam had still kept buying, but the – by far – most important customers, China and Japan, had suddenly been absent from the market. The crisis had hit the Philippines out of the blue – and found them arrantly unprepared. After some initial incertitude, public protest had erupted into open revolt.
Emilio Aguinaldo, hero of the struggle for independence and president elected, was compelled to flee the country and seek asylum in Krung Thep, while a revolutionary government was formed in Manila. The revolutionaries were proclaiming a republic of the upper classes – and started monopolising natural resources. That, however, did not go down well with the foreign advisors.
Massively supported by Siam and Vietnam, Aguinaldo had launched a counter-revolutionary movement. The resulting civil war had further harmed the economy, even if it lasted only fifteen months. Then, Aguinaldo had entered Manila again. But the once popular man was now forced to resort to suppressive methods. The resulting people’s democracy was – in fact – the rule of the mob – and of Aguinaldo’s secret police.
(John Steinbeck)
Once the US had disengaged, the Philippines had dropped from the international headlines. And neither the Far East War nor the subsequent trade war had changed that. The economy had boomed, delivering primary materials and foodstuffs to China and her allies had paid. At the same time, profuse development assistance had been received, chiefly from Vietnam and Siam – with Japan taking the backseat. It had been a good time for the Philippines.
GQDD – and the Great Honshu Earthquake – had ended this golden period. Demand had collapsed between nightfall and daybreak. To be sure, Vietnam and Siam had still kept buying, but the – by far – most important customers, China and Japan, had suddenly been absent from the market. The crisis had hit the Philippines out of the blue – and found them arrantly unprepared. After some initial incertitude, public protest had erupted into open revolt.
Emilio Aguinaldo, hero of the struggle for independence and president elected, was compelled to flee the country and seek asylum in Krung Thep, while a revolutionary government was formed in Manila. The revolutionaries were proclaiming a republic of the upper classes – and started monopolising natural resources. That, however, did not go down well with the foreign advisors.
Massively supported by Siam and Vietnam, Aguinaldo had launched a counter-revolutionary movement. The resulting civil war had further harmed the economy, even if it lasted only fifteen months. Then, Aguinaldo had entered Manila again. But the once popular man was now forced to resort to suppressive methods. The resulting people’s democracy was – in fact – the rule of the mob – and of Aguinaldo’s secret police.
Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under.
(H. L. Mencken)
Ever since the struggle for independence there existed a special bond between the Middle African navy and the Filipinos. Middle African volunteers crewing Japan-built submarines had contributed much to the success of the campaign driving off the US occupants. Therefore, forays to the Philippines were a well-liked treat for the sailors of the Middle African Indian Ocean Fleet.
This time, SMMAS Luvironza had hit the jackpot. They had arrived in Manila Bay yesterday evening – only to learn that a curfew had been declared – and they were to moor at Cavite naval station. No shore leave. What was that? One had thought the civil war was over. Emilio Aguinaldo had won, hadn’t he? So, what the hell? Fregattenkapitän Mokondo, Luvironza’s captain, was trying to get answers.
Rear-Admiral Cardoso, the commanding officer of the naval station, was shrugging his shoulders. What could he do but obey orders? There had been strikes and riots – and the government had issued a forty-eight hours curfew for the greater Manila area. It was going to be lifted tomorrow. Patience was all he could counsel. Would the esteemed visitor like some brandy? Wine? Beer?
What the deuce was going on here? One had been led to the believe that the emergency was over, inquired Mokondo. – Well, it wasn’t easy to explain. Cardoso smiled apologetically. It was the owning class, actually his peers, who had been leading the opposition. The president was a man of the common people – and he had no clue of economics. When the economy had collapsed, the propertied class had tried to avert the worst.
But the president hadn’t understood. His measures had only exacerbated the crisis. – Now, he was back – and evidently had learnt nothing… Certainly, he was a hero and a great man, but he definitely was not a businessman. What could the propertied folks do? They had to fight for economic survival. The crisis wasn’t over yet. – But that should not bother the revered visitors from Middle Africa. Tomorrow, the curfew would be lifted – and the dear guests could make merry at long last…
(H. L. Mencken)
Ever since the struggle for independence there existed a special bond between the Middle African navy and the Filipinos. Middle African volunteers crewing Japan-built submarines had contributed much to the success of the campaign driving off the US occupants. Therefore, forays to the Philippines were a well-liked treat for the sailors of the Middle African Indian Ocean Fleet.
This time, SMMAS Luvironza had hit the jackpot. They had arrived in Manila Bay yesterday evening – only to learn that a curfew had been declared – and they were to moor at Cavite naval station. No shore leave. What was that? One had thought the civil war was over. Emilio Aguinaldo had won, hadn’t he? So, what the hell? Fregattenkapitän Mokondo, Luvironza’s captain, was trying to get answers.
Rear-Admiral Cardoso, the commanding officer of the naval station, was shrugging his shoulders. What could he do but obey orders? There had been strikes and riots – and the government had issued a forty-eight hours curfew for the greater Manila area. It was going to be lifted tomorrow. Patience was all he could counsel. Would the esteemed visitor like some brandy? Wine? Beer?
What the deuce was going on here? One had been led to the believe that the emergency was over, inquired Mokondo. – Well, it wasn’t easy to explain. Cardoso smiled apologetically. It was the owning class, actually his peers, who had been leading the opposition. The president was a man of the common people – and he had no clue of economics. When the economy had collapsed, the propertied class had tried to avert the worst.
But the president hadn’t understood. His measures had only exacerbated the crisis. – Now, he was back – and evidently had learnt nothing… Certainly, he was a hero and a great man, but he definitely was not a businessman. What could the propertied folks do? They had to fight for economic survival. The crisis wasn’t over yet. – But that should not bother the revered visitors from Middle Africa. Tomorrow, the curfew would be lifted – and the dear guests could make merry at long last…
Why do i have feeling those mittleafrikans will get dragged into another philippines revolution? You know, being at the wrong place at the wrong time?
I'm not sure, I was just making a subtle point about perspective.
God alone knows the future, but only an historian can alter the past.
(Ambrose Bierce)
SMMAS Luvironza was a light cruiser, the kind of vessel that served as jack of all trades in the Middle African navy. She had been employed off Somalia for two months, had returned to Daressalam for maintenance, repair and overhaul – and had then proceeded to Somalian waters again, only to be detached to the Philippines after two weeks. Thoroughly used to military hurry-up-and-wait methods, neither officers nor crew had been surprised, however they had been quite jolly over the change.
The voyage to Manila Bay had taken them through the Straits of Malacca; the Middle African navy didn’t like to pay for using the Kra Canal. It was a good exercise. Manila was considered a just reward for the hardships of the long journey. Hence, the curfew had shocked the crew. One month of hard drill – and then no shore leave? But now, the curfew had been lifted – and the cute little Filipinas were waiting!
Kapitänleutnant Paul Furu, the communications officer, however, was not going for girls and booze. He had an appointment at the Middle African embassy. They would update him on the intelligence situation so that he could brief the captain. – Well, and he would be handed a lot of stuff, which he had to shuttle to Daressalam, dossiers, photographs, lists, the habitual Abwehr clutter. But at any rate, Luvironza’s captain – and his commo – was going to learn what the local factions were trying to accomplish and how they were composed.
Not that Luvironza was intended to intervene. No, one was the scout. The sailing order had arrived as soon as President Aguinaldo had re-entered Manila. The material one was shuttling to Daressalam would help the government to decide how Middle Africa should position herself in the ongoing conflict. Aguinaldo was an old and proven ally. But was he really the man of the future? Furu thought the chap was too old. Born in 1869, good grief, just like the Old Man in Deygbo, a living fossil…
(Ambrose Bierce)
SMMAS Luvironza was a light cruiser, the kind of vessel that served as jack of all trades in the Middle African navy. She had been employed off Somalia for two months, had returned to Daressalam for maintenance, repair and overhaul – and had then proceeded to Somalian waters again, only to be detached to the Philippines after two weeks. Thoroughly used to military hurry-up-and-wait methods, neither officers nor crew had been surprised, however they had been quite jolly over the change.
The voyage to Manila Bay had taken them through the Straits of Malacca; the Middle African navy didn’t like to pay for using the Kra Canal. It was a good exercise. Manila was considered a just reward for the hardships of the long journey. Hence, the curfew had shocked the crew. One month of hard drill – and then no shore leave? But now, the curfew had been lifted – and the cute little Filipinas were waiting!
Kapitänleutnant Paul Furu, the communications officer, however, was not going for girls and booze. He had an appointment at the Middle African embassy. They would update him on the intelligence situation so that he could brief the captain. – Well, and he would be handed a lot of stuff, which he had to shuttle to Daressalam, dossiers, photographs, lists, the habitual Abwehr clutter. But at any rate, Luvironza’s captain – and his commo – was going to learn what the local factions were trying to accomplish and how they were composed.
Not that Luvironza was intended to intervene. No, one was the scout. The sailing order had arrived as soon as President Aguinaldo had re-entered Manila. The material one was shuttling to Daressalam would help the government to decide how Middle Africa should position herself in the ongoing conflict. Aguinaldo was an old and proven ally. But was he really the man of the future? Furu thought the chap was too old. Born in 1869, good grief, just like the Old Man in Deygbo, a living fossil…
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A true revolutionary should be ready to perish in the process.
(Maximilien Robespierre)
Bloody askaris had got him. They didn’t know yet who he was. But he had been registered at Baraawe camp. Very soon, they were going to learn that he was a runaway. Well, that didn’t inevitably peg him as freedom fighter. But they would grow wary of him, much warier than they already were. This place was called Buuloburde. The Italians had called it Bulo Burti. The camp was huge; it was, in fact, replacing the ancient town. That, however, was the reason why he hoped to escape before the askaris found out he was Magan the Bomb Wizard.
Most people here seemed to be quite happy to live in a camp. It was disconcerting. Did they have no honour? No true faith? No pride? – Frigging askaris were ensnaring folks with luxuries: water from the tab, school for the kids, jobs that earned real money. Couldn’t people see that the enemy was taking control of their lives? That was what the askaris were doing in fact: tuck everyone into camp, police them, and thus empty the countryside. It had worked for them in Südwest, and now they were repeating the exercise in Somalia.
Magan couldn’t stand the idea of being confined. They had put him into the ‘new arrivals, not yet certified’ cage, which meant he didn’t stand the slightest chance of getting a job outside. He had to bust out. And he had to do it now. Or rather in the coming night... The askaris wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. But hitting a moving target in the dark wasn’t easy, even if headlights were supporting the hunt. He would set some tents on fire – and bolt in the ensuing panic.
Fences were triple concertinas, not nice, but throwing a blanket over them could help. He had done it before. Four blankets he could carry. That might suffice. If not… Inshallah… – Four bullets were later found to have hit him, two in the back, one in the upper leg, and the fourth brushing his hip. It was obvious that he had died on the spot. Unfortunately, seven other Somalis had been killed in the turmoil as well. Two days later, his identity had been ascertained: he was one of the most wanted terrorists. – And yes, the infrared aiming devices had been found very handy.
(Maximilien Robespierre)
Bloody askaris had got him. They didn’t know yet who he was. But he had been registered at Baraawe camp. Very soon, they were going to learn that he was a runaway. Well, that didn’t inevitably peg him as freedom fighter. But they would grow wary of him, much warier than they already were. This place was called Buuloburde. The Italians had called it Bulo Burti. The camp was huge; it was, in fact, replacing the ancient town. That, however, was the reason why he hoped to escape before the askaris found out he was Magan the Bomb Wizard.
Most people here seemed to be quite happy to live in a camp. It was disconcerting. Did they have no honour? No true faith? No pride? – Frigging askaris were ensnaring folks with luxuries: water from the tab, school for the kids, jobs that earned real money. Couldn’t people see that the enemy was taking control of their lives? That was what the askaris were doing in fact: tuck everyone into camp, police them, and thus empty the countryside. It had worked for them in Südwest, and now they were repeating the exercise in Somalia.
Magan couldn’t stand the idea of being confined. They had put him into the ‘new arrivals, not yet certified’ cage, which meant he didn’t stand the slightest chance of getting a job outside. He had to bust out. And he had to do it now. Or rather in the coming night... The askaris wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. But hitting a moving target in the dark wasn’t easy, even if headlights were supporting the hunt. He would set some tents on fire – and bolt in the ensuing panic.
Fences were triple concertinas, not nice, but throwing a blanket over them could help. He had done it before. Four blankets he could carry. That might suffice. If not… Inshallah… – Four bullets were later found to have hit him, two in the back, one in the upper leg, and the fourth brushing his hip. It was obvious that he had died on the spot. Unfortunately, seven other Somalis had been killed in the turmoil as well. Two days later, his identity had been ascertained: he was one of the most wanted terrorists. – And yes, the infrared aiming devices had been found very handy.
Art is not a mirror. Art is a hammer.
(Bertolt Brecht)
Venergost was on the way back to Earth. They had broken orbit around Venus and were now coasting towards Earth in a wide arc. What a journey! Three months to go down, almost one month spent in orbit, and four months to soar up again. Dull past belief, thought Ilya Stepanovich Semskov, nothing to be seen, neither in transit, nor in orbit. Venus was looking like a white billiard ball – without any change, always the same nothingness.
Yeah, it was an incomparable scientific achievement, no doubt, but hard to sell to the wider public. That was why he had evaded featuring the journey to Venus. His heroes were travelling to Mars! Semskov, better known by his pen name Ivolga, was a famous cartoonist. His cartoons were regularly published in many Russian newspapers. Paid for by NASA, he had designed a Kamil about a trio of spacemen: Vanya, Vladko and Kostya. They were voyaging to the Red Planet – and landing on it.
Of course, Vanya, Vladko and Kostya were modelled on Yurka, Vovik and Kolya, the real spacers. And they had enemies. Nyemtsi would have been fine, but they had dropped out, unfortunately. Sissies! So, Semskov had chosen Turks: Murat, Aslan and Enver were chasing the valiant Russians. That was kind of far-fetched, because the Ottoman space programme was still in its early infancy, but the readers seemed to dig it.
And Mars was, of course, far more interesting than Venus. There were enigmatic ruins, very ancient ruins – and other secrets… The Kamil was entitled ‘Marsky Dukh’, Mars Ghost, and it had become very popular. Originally published as newspaper serial, a first book edition was now under preparation. It was true, for the average Russian, Mars Ghost was far more fascinating then the real Venergost enterprise.
The Martian canals were still floating around in the public mind, yet, the astronomers said it was horseplay, most probably, just an optical illusion. Semskov had avoided the issue by showing the canals as ruins – without alluding to them explicitly. NASA had appointed several junior scientists who were counselling Semskov. That was helpful because he had no real clue of these matters. His specialty was humour and fantasy, not science.
True, there had been novels and movies, American pulp mainly, about Mars, Marsians and space travel, like the Barsoom series by Edgar Rice Burroughs. But compared to his Kamil, they were cheap crap, primitive and derisory. His work had the feeling of the real thing – because it was modelled on the real thing. Yeah, while the boring Venus mission was dragging on, he was leading the Russians to the mysteries of the Red Planet.
(Bertolt Brecht)
Venergost was on the way back to Earth. They had broken orbit around Venus and were now coasting towards Earth in a wide arc. What a journey! Three months to go down, almost one month spent in orbit, and four months to soar up again. Dull past belief, thought Ilya Stepanovich Semskov, nothing to be seen, neither in transit, nor in orbit. Venus was looking like a white billiard ball – without any change, always the same nothingness.
Yeah, it was an incomparable scientific achievement, no doubt, but hard to sell to the wider public. That was why he had evaded featuring the journey to Venus. His heroes were travelling to Mars! Semskov, better known by his pen name Ivolga, was a famous cartoonist. His cartoons were regularly published in many Russian newspapers. Paid for by NASA, he had designed a Kamil about a trio of spacemen: Vanya, Vladko and Kostya. They were voyaging to the Red Planet – and landing on it.
Of course, Vanya, Vladko and Kostya were modelled on Yurka, Vovik and Kolya, the real spacers. And they had enemies. Nyemtsi would have been fine, but they had dropped out, unfortunately. Sissies! So, Semskov had chosen Turks: Murat, Aslan and Enver were chasing the valiant Russians. That was kind of far-fetched, because the Ottoman space programme was still in its early infancy, but the readers seemed to dig it.
And Mars was, of course, far more interesting than Venus. There were enigmatic ruins, very ancient ruins – and other secrets… The Kamil was entitled ‘Marsky Dukh’, Mars Ghost, and it had become very popular. Originally published as newspaper serial, a first book edition was now under preparation. It was true, for the average Russian, Mars Ghost was far more fascinating then the real Venergost enterprise.
The Martian canals were still floating around in the public mind, yet, the astronomers said it was horseplay, most probably, just an optical illusion. Semskov had avoided the issue by showing the canals as ruins – without alluding to them explicitly. NASA had appointed several junior scientists who were counselling Semskov. That was helpful because he had no real clue of these matters. His specialty was humour and fantasy, not science.
True, there had been novels and movies, American pulp mainly, about Mars, Marsians and space travel, like the Barsoom series by Edgar Rice Burroughs. But compared to his Kamil, they were cheap crap, primitive and derisory. His work had the feeling of the real thing – because it was modelled on the real thing. Yeah, while the boring Venus mission was dragging on, he was leading the Russians to the mysteries of the Red Planet.
Dark spruce frowned on either side of the frozen waterway.
(Jack London)
Holy Pig! This must be the mother of all blizzards! Choe Kyung–jae ducked his head when a gust of wind rattled the roof. The place was called Moose Jaw. It wasn’t far from Regina. His party was stuck here since two days. It was impossible to move. There were no locals, only a work team, sturdy Koreans. But they should be kept supplied by rail from Medicine Hat. And now, one had Choe’s party, another twelve mouths to be fed, in addition – and no train since the day before yesterday.
Okay, biscuits were in good supply. And water could be won from the tons of snow piling up outside. One wouldn’t starve and one wouldn’t die of thirst. One just had to wait until the snowstorm died down. – Was there a snow thrower at Medicine Hat? Or Calgary? No idea. Telephone was down, one couldn’t ask – or call for help. Nevertheless, folks over there knew that Choe and his folks had to be somewhere east of Medicine Hat. – The outpost was overcrowded, but there seemed to be no danger that it might collapse under the snow.
Choe looked around. Faces were solemn, as was proper for true Koreans. Yes, apart from the shitty weather one could be content. Cascadia was a success story – as far as the chaebōl were concerned. Extraction of natural resources was running better than anticipated. The bosses back home were pleased indeed. The operation had become fully profitable in a short space of time. The Cascadians, desperately short of manpower, were co-operating to the fullest extent.
Some men, however, had been heard talking about settling in Cascadia together with their families. Should one encourage such an approach? President MacInnis would welcome any extra citizens, no doubt. One would lose workers in the process. But one also should be able to recruit many new ones – if settlement became an option. And one might reduce payment… Well, certainly nobody was going to settle in this white hell… But over the mountains, weather wasn’t that bad…
(Jack London)
Holy Pig! This must be the mother of all blizzards! Choe Kyung–jae ducked his head when a gust of wind rattled the roof. The place was called Moose Jaw. It wasn’t far from Regina. His party was stuck here since two days. It was impossible to move. There were no locals, only a work team, sturdy Koreans. But they should be kept supplied by rail from Medicine Hat. And now, one had Choe’s party, another twelve mouths to be fed, in addition – and no train since the day before yesterday.
Okay, biscuits were in good supply. And water could be won from the tons of snow piling up outside. One wouldn’t starve and one wouldn’t die of thirst. One just had to wait until the snowstorm died down. – Was there a snow thrower at Medicine Hat? Or Calgary? No idea. Telephone was down, one couldn’t ask – or call for help. Nevertheless, folks over there knew that Choe and his folks had to be somewhere east of Medicine Hat. – The outpost was overcrowded, but there seemed to be no danger that it might collapse under the snow.
Choe looked around. Faces were solemn, as was proper for true Koreans. Yes, apart from the shitty weather one could be content. Cascadia was a success story – as far as the chaebōl were concerned. Extraction of natural resources was running better than anticipated. The bosses back home were pleased indeed. The operation had become fully profitable in a short space of time. The Cascadians, desperately short of manpower, were co-operating to the fullest extent.
Some men, however, had been heard talking about settling in Cascadia together with their families. Should one encourage such an approach? President MacInnis would welcome any extra citizens, no doubt. One would lose workers in the process. But one also should be able to recruit many new ones – if settlement became an option. And one might reduce payment… Well, certainly nobody was going to settle in this white hell… But over the mountains, weather wasn’t that bad…
If our armies are not so numerous as those of other nations, they have qualities that render them more valuable.
(Henry Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerstone)
This was madness. A wild chase – for chimeras… Yes, the land-based Arrows had been deployed all over the British Isles. And they had been mobile. – What had such a detachment looked like? Three vehicles looking like furniture lorries, ten large trucks with trailers and two mobile cranes – plus a motor coach and seven passenger cars. This one did know. And here ended all knowledge…
What did the high-ups think these people had done when the bloody plague had been on the rampage? Sit idly and wait – or run away like everybody else? – Sergeant Roger Moore thought there was not the ghost of a chance to find the vehicles – and thus the Arrows – of any such detachment together in one place. They must be wildly scattered all over Britain.
They – the Royal Marines – had been briefed that Jerry had stolen the documents pertaining to Arrow deployment. Well, even if one had these files in hand, it wouldn’t change a thing. And many of the frigging vehicles had been camouflaged as civilian crafts… Nevertheless, they – the Marines – had been sent out to search and find the bleeding missiles and the warheads.
And the sodding sailors are grabbing the women, while we are trudging through the debris… Moore was disgruntled. It was unfair. Young American girls, a whole shipload of them arriving at Portsmouth, and he and his comrades were ranging the Midlands, searching for phantom vehicles… It was so utterly pointless…
Wandering through the debris and the rubbish of a dead nation was disenchanting and disheartening. And dangerous… Okay, one had the antidote, but even that potion could kill you… And when you eventually were coming back to Portsmouth, all the girls were in the hands of the fucking sailors... Bugger it!
(Henry Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerstone)
This was madness. A wild chase – for chimeras… Yes, the land-based Arrows had been deployed all over the British Isles. And they had been mobile. – What had such a detachment looked like? Three vehicles looking like furniture lorries, ten large trucks with trailers and two mobile cranes – plus a motor coach and seven passenger cars. This one did know. And here ended all knowledge…
What did the high-ups think these people had done when the bloody plague had been on the rampage? Sit idly and wait – or run away like everybody else? – Sergeant Roger Moore thought there was not the ghost of a chance to find the vehicles – and thus the Arrows – of any such detachment together in one place. They must be wildly scattered all over Britain.
They – the Royal Marines – had been briefed that Jerry had stolen the documents pertaining to Arrow deployment. Well, even if one had these files in hand, it wouldn’t change a thing. And many of the frigging vehicles had been camouflaged as civilian crafts… Nevertheless, they – the Marines – had been sent out to search and find the bleeding missiles and the warheads.
And the sodding sailors are grabbing the women, while we are trudging through the debris… Moore was disgruntled. It was unfair. Young American girls, a whole shipload of them arriving at Portsmouth, and he and his comrades were ranging the Midlands, searching for phantom vehicles… It was so utterly pointless…
Wandering through the debris and the rubbish of a dead nation was disenchanting and disheartening. And dangerous… Okay, one had the antidote, but even that potion could kill you… And when you eventually were coming back to Portsmouth, all the girls were in the hands of the fucking sailors... Bugger it!
We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.
(Rudyard Kipling)
The Indian Federation’s approach to spaceflight was characterised by a certain vacillation. The initial impulse had been to encourage the development of a domestic rocket industry. Proceeding from the producers of military hardware, who were offering various missiles for the armed forces, mainly small solid-fuelled models, the Staar Udaan Sangh, the star flight consortium, had been created. However, it soon had become apparent that SUS had a long way to go until they could match RRA or NASA.
Should one sit in the back row until then? Or should one embrace the DELAG offer to supply the proven Brüderchen & Schwesterchen combo? It would enable the IF to become a space faring nation within less than two years. And DELAG’s asking prices weren’t entirely unreasonable. – But in this case one was going to be fully dependent on foreign knowhow – and on foreign hardware. That was unacceptable. The nationalists wouldn’t agree to this course of action.
But then the IF would remain on the back seat… That had to be accepted. National pride demanded an indigene solution. – Until it became known that the Middle Africans were buying DELAG stuff… That was unacceptable. To be beaten on the way to the stars by those knuckle draggers… India was looking back on four thousand years of civilisation. These black blighters had still been eating their visitors a century ago… No, one must not hang behind the Madhy Aphreekee! National pride demanded a quick solution.
DELAG’s prices, however, had risen considerably in the interim. This fact annoyed the conservatives. Why should the gadgets suddenly become more expensive? This was not acceptable. Better conditions had to be bargained. With RRA in hibernation mode, DELAG was wholly reliant on foreign customers. – Yes, but the Dornier Projekt SR aircraft, better known as Brüderchen, and the orbital gliders were forming only a very small segment of DELAG’s business. Every bus was custom-made. The Middle Africans had bought the existing stocks. Any new craft had to be constructed from the ground up. That was expensive. There was a dire shortage of workers in Germany.
Negotiations dragged on. But the Middle Africans were already training with a Brüderchen on Lake Victoria; photographs were published in the media. That was unacceptable… Something had to be done. Well, at least Puri on the Bay of Bengal had been identified as future spaceport. – Finally, the conservatives were coming around. But only the absolute minimum must be bought. It was outrageous, but one couldn’t allow to be outdone by these primitives…
(Rudyard Kipling)
The Indian Federation’s approach to spaceflight was characterised by a certain vacillation. The initial impulse had been to encourage the development of a domestic rocket industry. Proceeding from the producers of military hardware, who were offering various missiles for the armed forces, mainly small solid-fuelled models, the Staar Udaan Sangh, the star flight consortium, had been created. However, it soon had become apparent that SUS had a long way to go until they could match RRA or NASA.
Should one sit in the back row until then? Or should one embrace the DELAG offer to supply the proven Brüderchen & Schwesterchen combo? It would enable the IF to become a space faring nation within less than two years. And DELAG’s asking prices weren’t entirely unreasonable. – But in this case one was going to be fully dependent on foreign knowhow – and on foreign hardware. That was unacceptable. The nationalists wouldn’t agree to this course of action.
But then the IF would remain on the back seat… That had to be accepted. National pride demanded an indigene solution. – Until it became known that the Middle Africans were buying DELAG stuff… That was unacceptable. To be beaten on the way to the stars by those knuckle draggers… India was looking back on four thousand years of civilisation. These black blighters had still been eating their visitors a century ago… No, one must not hang behind the Madhy Aphreekee! National pride demanded a quick solution.
DELAG’s prices, however, had risen considerably in the interim. This fact annoyed the conservatives. Why should the gadgets suddenly become more expensive? This was not acceptable. Better conditions had to be bargained. With RRA in hibernation mode, DELAG was wholly reliant on foreign customers. – Yes, but the Dornier Projekt SR aircraft, better known as Brüderchen, and the orbital gliders were forming only a very small segment of DELAG’s business. Every bus was custom-made. The Middle Africans had bought the existing stocks. Any new craft had to be constructed from the ground up. That was expensive. There was a dire shortage of workers in Germany.
Negotiations dragged on. But the Middle Africans were already training with a Brüderchen on Lake Victoria; photographs were published in the media. That was unacceptable… Something had to be done. Well, at least Puri on the Bay of Bengal had been identified as future spaceport. – Finally, the conservatives were coming around. But only the absolute minimum must be bought. It was outrageous, but one couldn’t allow to be outdone by these primitives…
It is difficult to say what is impossible, for the dream of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of tomorrow.
(Robert H. Goddard)
It had not escaped the attention of those responsible for US national security that Russians and Germans were not developing rockets exclusively for spaceflight. The same models that were hoisting men into space could also carry nuclear warheads, even multiple warheads. And in both countries, launch sites for these intercontinental missiles had been identified. That was a threat the US could not ignore.
Relations with Germany were cold and distant, but not genuinely hostile. Berlin was appreciative of US isolationism – and in turn had refrained from intervention in the Americas since the Chicago Constitution had come into legal force. Goods traffic and communication between the US and the German dominated COMECON were fractional. Yet, the COMECON was very active in doing business with South America. And the Trans-Atlantic War had shown how fast steady relations could deteriorate.
Russia, by contrast, was the sworn enemy of the United States’ friend and ally China. One had last clashed in the Trade War – and relations had remained glacial ever since. Russia was taking no interest in US affairs, but any new conflict with China might quickly spark a serious crisis. And the Russians were known to be utterly ruthless in their use of nuclear weapons. – Well, in addition, both, Germany and Russia, were known to have deployed nukes in orbit.
At least, Britain had ceased to be a threat to the US. Communist rule had collapsed; Canada was – or rather Québec and Cascadia were – free from British oppression. However, Churchill was infamous for his dirty tricks – and might once more try to involve the US in his nasty schemes, if one didn’t watch out painstakingly. But what remained from former British might was still armed with nukes…
Fedrock, the Federal Agency for Rocketry, had hitherto specialised on light rockets suitable for lifting spy, weather and communication satellites into orbit. No attention had been diverted to manned spaceflight and the development of heavy-duty missiles. This was changing now. Ira Herbert Abbot, Fedrock’s boss, was amazed to learn that his organisation was due to receive a major boost in funding. Washington still wasn’t interested in manned spaceflight, but they urgently wanted ICBMs.
(Robert H. Goddard)
It had not escaped the attention of those responsible for US national security that Russians and Germans were not developing rockets exclusively for spaceflight. The same models that were hoisting men into space could also carry nuclear warheads, even multiple warheads. And in both countries, launch sites for these intercontinental missiles had been identified. That was a threat the US could not ignore.
Relations with Germany were cold and distant, but not genuinely hostile. Berlin was appreciative of US isolationism – and in turn had refrained from intervention in the Americas since the Chicago Constitution had come into legal force. Goods traffic and communication between the US and the German dominated COMECON were fractional. Yet, the COMECON was very active in doing business with South America. And the Trans-Atlantic War had shown how fast steady relations could deteriorate.
Russia, by contrast, was the sworn enemy of the United States’ friend and ally China. One had last clashed in the Trade War – and relations had remained glacial ever since. Russia was taking no interest in US affairs, but any new conflict with China might quickly spark a serious crisis. And the Russians were known to be utterly ruthless in their use of nuclear weapons. – Well, in addition, both, Germany and Russia, were known to have deployed nukes in orbit.
At least, Britain had ceased to be a threat to the US. Communist rule had collapsed; Canada was – or rather Québec and Cascadia were – free from British oppression. However, Churchill was infamous for his dirty tricks – and might once more try to involve the US in his nasty schemes, if one didn’t watch out painstakingly. But what remained from former British might was still armed with nukes…
Fedrock, the Federal Agency for Rocketry, had hitherto specialised on light rockets suitable for lifting spy, weather and communication satellites into orbit. No attention had been diverted to manned spaceflight and the development of heavy-duty missiles. This was changing now. Ira Herbert Abbot, Fedrock’s boss, was amazed to learn that his organisation was due to receive a major boost in funding. Washington still wasn’t interested in manned spaceflight, but they urgently wanted ICBMs.
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You should always pay attention to quality. A coffin, for instance, should last a lifetime.
(Kurt Tucholsky)
The Prussian lever was important, because Prussia was the home of most of Germany’s heavy industry. But the AFV lever was working nationwide. With 128 seats, the party was the strongest parliamentary group in the Reichstag. And in Prussia, Saxony, the Grand Duchy of Hessen, Elsaß-Lothringen, Bremen and Hamburg they were providing the government. Hans-Adolf Prützmann, the new AFV chairman and minister-president of Prussia, was working all levers simultaneously.
He was lacking the charisma of Herbert Weller, his predecessor, who had bolted and vanished. But he possessed a lot of patience and endurance that enabled him to sit through endless conferences and meetings. And he was focussed on spaceflight. – Yes, the plague had been horrible. But hadn’t it proven – once again, after GQDD – that mankind was in mortal peril as long as it didn’t spread out in space?
One had gathered ample experience by constructing the Weizsäcker Suns and had crowned this development by landing a man and a woman on the Moon. Should all this knowhow be scrapped because the pest had almost devoured Germany? Certainly not, it ought to be an incentive! Germany must settle the Moon – and Mars. Okay, water had to be searched and found in space, that was the prerequisite.
Without water life wasn’t possible – neither on Earth nor in space. Hence, one must devote resources to identifying water reservoirs on Luna – and later on Mars. Or one had to find water ice somewhere else in the solar system – and transport it to the places where man wanted to settle. Yes, this was “The Martian Way” as described by the Jewish writer Isaak Ozimov in 1952. So what? The idea was brilliant. Hoisting water up from Earth was no solution.
Yes, one had to revisit the Moon. Not for planting silly flags, but for finding water. Venus, obviously, was too hot. Therefore, one had to scrutinise Mars. Probes, unmanned, had to be sent to prepare a manned mission. If the Russians were capable of sailing to Venus and back, there was absolutely no reason why Germany shouldn’t be able to reach Mars. All the expertise was there, one simply had to make good use of it.
(Kurt Tucholsky)
The Prussian lever was important, because Prussia was the home of most of Germany’s heavy industry. But the AFV lever was working nationwide. With 128 seats, the party was the strongest parliamentary group in the Reichstag. And in Prussia, Saxony, the Grand Duchy of Hessen, Elsaß-Lothringen, Bremen and Hamburg they were providing the government. Hans-Adolf Prützmann, the new AFV chairman and minister-president of Prussia, was working all levers simultaneously.
He was lacking the charisma of Herbert Weller, his predecessor, who had bolted and vanished. But he possessed a lot of patience and endurance that enabled him to sit through endless conferences and meetings. And he was focussed on spaceflight. – Yes, the plague had been horrible. But hadn’t it proven – once again, after GQDD – that mankind was in mortal peril as long as it didn’t spread out in space?
One had gathered ample experience by constructing the Weizsäcker Suns and had crowned this development by landing a man and a woman on the Moon. Should all this knowhow be scrapped because the pest had almost devoured Germany? Certainly not, it ought to be an incentive! Germany must settle the Moon – and Mars. Okay, water had to be searched and found in space, that was the prerequisite.
Without water life wasn’t possible – neither on Earth nor in space. Hence, one must devote resources to identifying water reservoirs on Luna – and later on Mars. Or one had to find water ice somewhere else in the solar system – and transport it to the places where man wanted to settle. Yes, this was “The Martian Way” as described by the Jewish writer Isaak Ozimov in 1952. So what? The idea was brilliant. Hoisting water up from Earth was no solution.
Yes, one had to revisit the Moon. Not for planting silly flags, but for finding water. Venus, obviously, was too hot. Therefore, one had to scrutinise Mars. Probes, unmanned, had to be sent to prepare a manned mission. If the Russians were capable of sailing to Venus and back, there was absolutely no reason why Germany shouldn’t be able to reach Mars. All the expertise was there, one simply had to make good use of it.