A Shift in Priorities

Status
Not open for further replies.

rast

Excitement is impossible where there is no contest.
(Henry Cabot Lodge)

As the year 1948 was drawing to a close, activities in Prerow and affiliated facilities went frantic. The politicians were demanding a success in space – prior to the national elections scheduled for Sunday, March 20th, 1949. It was evident that the Russians were preparing to send a man into space very soon. Therefore, Germany had to shoot up two persons, one of them a woman. This was what the Ministry of Transport and Space Exploration had decreed.

The carrier rocket didn’t pose a problem. The A12 was ready and well tested. It was a powerful design that could lift up to twelve metric tons into orbit. But the spacecraft required for accommodating two space farers wasn’t ready yet. Actually, the idea had been to develop a capsule, which could house up to three persons, had portholes and a lock for extravehicular activities. The A12 was the mount for this new vehicle. But the experienced rocketeer team under Werner von Braun and Sergei Korolev had been much quicker than the spacecraft designers.

The good old Eisenhans of Jochen Marseille vintage had served its time. Something much more versatile was required, either as a ballistic bus for three space farers or as manoeuvrable craft for one. However, right now, the bus had precedence; the manoeuvrable gadget could wait. – That a woman should be hoisted into space had hit the spacenik community fairly between the eyes. Not that one was opposed in principle, but – hitherto – one had only looked for males; and the space farer selection programme had only enlisted men.

Three names immediately came to mind: Elly Beinhorn, Hanna Reitsch and Melitta Schenk Gräfin von Stauffenberg. But when approached, only Hanna Reitsch proved crazy enough to say yes. – Thus, the training facility near Ilsenburg on the Harz Mountains had opportunity to welcome a new trainee just before Christmas.
 

rast

England’s coat of arms should be a lion’s head and shoulders welded onto a cur’s hindquarters.
(Mark Twain)

Polly Brown was at the Seascale site, packing up her belongings. She was disenchanted and unhappy with the way things had developed since the coup. – Dash it all! She was not a dissenter! Actually, she always had felt comfortable with socialism in the British fashion. But, of course, she was considered a favourite of the retired Field Marshal. And now, with Rajani Palme Dutt residing in Number Ten Downing Street, the sworn enemies of the Field Marshal were having a field day. – She was a qualified controller herself. Having Maud Woodley plonked in front of her had been a deliberate insult. A humiliation she could not tolerate…

Rebellion was not her thing, not against a Red government at least. So, what should she do? She was still undecided. Going back to Spain was an option. Going back to East London rather not… Canada came to mind as well. Triple C had the reputation of being reasonable. But how long would she last? Now that new people were being installed everywhere? – It was a pity that Britain was debilitating herself. – But perhaps new strength was going to flow from these new people? Polly didn’t know. This wasn’t her turf. Ordinary soldiers should abstain from meddling in politics…

Truly, the Field Marshal had nurtured her career because he had known about her ability to lead. She could men – and women – make do what she wanted them to do. But she had never ever nosed into politics. She always had obeyed orders. – The success of the British nuclear programme was her business card, wasn’t it? She had no clue of the mechanics at work in a nuclear bomb, but she had made the boffins do it – and coaxed the suppliers to furnish everything the eggheads required… It was no mean feat, quite something to be proud of. – But Polly didn’t expect any gratitude. It had been a military job. She had been ordered to do it – and she had done it.

Her uniforms she could leave behind. Was she still a lieutenant general? No idea… – The soldiers here at Seascale had shown the habitual respect, when she had arrived. But they knew her in the flesh, would always address her madam general. – Anything else to be crammed into her bag? – A knock at the door…
“Come in!” she shouted.
It was Colonel Smithers, her deputy here at Seascale. What should they do with the MI5 spooks they had arrested?

Wait! – What? – Who?
A squad of MI5 operatives had shown up. Had wanted to arrest her. One had disarmed the blokes and flung them into the brig. How much headstart did she need?
Good grief! What did MI5 want from her? – Now, she had been the military commander of the British nuclear programme. That was top secret. Did she think they would let her go just like that?
Did he think there were more spooks lurking outside?
Smithers shrugged his shoulders, grinned. They certainly hadn’t expected to be jailed. A rather self-assured lot. No, most probably no hidden stalkers. But they surely were going to inquire where their commando was.

Rats! She knew no secrets; her field had been organisation and coordination, normal military tasks. And if she knew something, she never would disclose it to Britain’s enemies. – MI5 had a new chief. Strafer Gott had been arrested. The new man’s name was Kirkwood, one of Palme Dutt’s close confidants. Did she know him? – No, not at all. She knew Palme Dutt because he had been secwar. That was about all. But when MI5 really wanted her, there was no use in running away. So, Colonel, release the spooks and let them fulfil their mission. There’s nothing I have to fear.
 

sloreck

Too bad Koestler never wrote "Darkness at Noon" in this timeline, and Polly did not get to read it. I sense show trials in the offing, and perhaps the only question is will Polly confess for the good of the revolution, or will she resist, be tried in absentia and receive a bullet in the back of the head quietly "while trying to escape".
 

rast

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Launching a space rocket from Achinsk spaceport in January didn’t seem like a good idea – at least to people living in regions with more clement climate. But Russian scientists and engineers had long-since learnt how to cope with cold weather conditions. Thus, January 12th, 1949, a Wednesday, had been determined to be the day when Russia was going to send her first man into space.

Achinsk spaceport once had been a Rozhdestvensky missile proving ground, readily sold to NASA in 1947 – and thereafter grandiosely enhanced. Now, on the occasion of the scheduled launch, NASA was proudly presenting the facility to the media, so that the Russian tax payers could explicitly see what had been accomplished with their money. It was a tremendous dog and pony show, and the good tax payers were watching it on TV, listening to it over radio, and reading about in the print media.

They were also learning about the disparity of the touchdown methods. The Germans had landed the complete capsule, the Eisenhans, on huge parachutes. The Russian capsule, called Alkonost, would eject the cosmonaut and his seat unit, who would float down on parachutes, while the capsule was left to falling free. Yes, serious scientists were explaining the audience, this meant that Alkonost wasn’t reusable. But this also applied to the German model, which was irreversibly damaged by the heat build-up at re-entry.

Yes, and all sensitive instruments would come down together with the cosmonaut and his seat unit. Nothing would be lost. – It was just about reasonable dealing with precious tax payer money. Alkonost was tagged at half the price of Eisenhans – and the rocket to launch it could also be smaller and thus cheaper than the German model. Utmost importance was attached to economy – and, of course, to safety. Safety was not neglected, not at all.

The man selected for the mission was Yevgeny Georgievich Pepelyaev, who had fought as a young fighter pilot in the Far East War. He had qualified ahead of several hundred contestants. His mission was to circle around earth for more than one day, twenty-five hours and twenty minutes to be exact, not only some brief instants like that German space farer.

Thus, two days before Russian-Orthodox New Year was celebrated, NASA was venturing into manned space flight.
 

rast

Looking at a king’s mouth one would never think he sucked his mother’s breast.
(Ancient African proverb)

Max Sikuku had, once again, come to Südwest. Somebody independent had to keep a sharp eye on the Middle African administration. Even if all resistance had died down some time ago, it still was an occupation regime at work. And, of course, Max was still hoping to score for MALU. One never could have enough publicity.

He had already found that the situation in Ovamboland had improved considerably. One could indeed trust the Middle African bureaucracy. It was ponderous and pedestrian, but once it had identified a problem, it would not let loose before the deficiency had been ironed out. Demining had made some perceptible progress.

Nevertheless, the experts thought it would still take about fifteen years, until all mines had been removed. ‘All mines’, by the way, meant that about 1,500 mines or improvised explosives would not be found in the process. The experts, Max had learnt, were former Middle African engineer officers, who had found profitable earning in supervising the demining effort.

The work on the ground was done by locals, Ovambos and Hereros mainly. They were paid by – the customary victims, the Middle African tax payers. That couldn’t be helped, because Südwest had successfully been kept as integral part of Middle Africa. Thus, the Middle African demining doctrine was only kept true insofar that those who had planted the mines also were removing them now.

Max had also seen mine detection dogs in action; they were an invention of the experts. The animals were trained to sniff out the explosive agents. Unfortunately, the poor beasts could not be taught to sniff out trip wires. The experts were still contemplating the problem.

One was also experimenting with metal detectors, but several types of mines used did not contain metal in noteworthy quantity – and the detectors weren’t sophisticated enough to track down very small amounts of steel, like – say – a simple spring.

Max was impressed by the work done. Demining was an issue also found pressing in China, but – as far as Max knew – the scientific approach found in Südwest was not matched by a similar development in Far East. The experts were only grinning sardonically and imitating the bearing of men stomping their feet on the ground, while holding the hands to their ears.

Might this be a business idea? Humanitarian demining? Max had already made a mental note. There weren’t many armed conflicts right now worldwide. Well, actually, there was none – if the FOM was neglected, where people were rather using bombs and bullets instead of mines. But they certainly were utilising booby traps, weren’t they? So, there might be a future market. – And, of course, peace never had been a never ending story…

At least, a good part of the agricultural surfaces had been made usable again already, about sixty percent. That meant that the total ruin of the Ovambo people could be avoided, even if they were much poorer today than they had been before the attempted secession. Yet, only a third of them were still living in camps, because entry into their villages was still denied by mine markers.

The transport infrastructure had been repaired completely, was even better today than it had been before. Here, the tax payers were truly getting added value for their money. Well, until now, the expenditure for the whole Südwest affair had been three times the Middle African yearly budget. Had it been worth the effort? The Südwest contribution to this budget had been approximately one-twentieth, pre conflict. So, one had to keep Südwest for at least sixty more years – just to get one’s money back.
 

rast

A well-used minimum suffices for everything.
(Jules Verne)

One had to be very careful when conferring with Eugen Gerstenmaier, this Wernher von Braun had already learnt. The bloke was not a believer in space flight. Vice Chancellor Erzberger had placed him at the head of the Reichsraumfahrtsamt with the aim of blanketing ‘the space waste’ as much as possible. While Gerstenmaier was not a Roman Catholic brother in faith, but a bloody Protestant theologian, he was all the same a reliable fellow Swabian, whom Erzberger trusted to have long pockets and short arms when it came to funding.

Working for the military had been easier. General Milch had not been a believer in space flight either, but he had wanted powerful rockets, and he had been ready to raise the funds required for that purpose. In the media, Gerstenmaier was paying lip service to public opinion heated up by the space race, but secretly he was looking for arguments how to cut the ‘squander’. And he firmly believed that man shouldn’t poach on God’s creation. Heaven hadn’t been given to man; God had put him on earth – and that was where he should stay…

Thank goodness for Premier Vatutin and the space race challenge. Now that Pepelyaev had circled around the globe for more than one day – and had safely returned, despite some serious bugs, there was hardly a chance for Gerstenmaier to throw a spanner in the works. Public opinion – and those people keen to be re-elected in March – were howling for a German space mission to knock the Ivans down a peg again.

Well, Pepelyaev had been lucky to survive. The automatic ejection of his seat unit, which actually was a capsule inside the capsule, had failed, and only by firing the device manually had the Russian been able to save his hide – in the last nick of time. – And, von Braun knew but wouldn’t tell Gerstenmaier, the Russians had reached the end of their tether for the time being. The rocket used to hoist Pepelyaev into space was their largest and most powerful model. They didn’t have anything better right now, and they were going to need some time for development…

These petty details one better kept away from Gerstenmaier. The chap was currently under heavy pressure to produce a German space success. So, the trick was to coax him into providing funds that allowed continuous research and development for – say – the next two or three years. Of course, everything was ready for the upcoming mission sending a boy and a girl into orbit. The space bus had just been delivered. But one needed money to engineer the steerable craft, which was the future of space flight.

The problem was that one didn’t have a law regulating space craft construction. Tirpitz, that old devil, had wheedled the Reichstag into giving him a law and providing the funds for building the High Seas Fleet. Today, one was at the mercy of misers like Gerstenmaier… And the merry men of DELAG were enacting space flight as a private venture, something that could only give the politicians foul notions…

Von Braun was ready to cheat and lie for his great purpose, he would even deal with the devil to get men into space and to the moon. For ground dwellers like Gerstenmaier, he felt only disdain. Nevertheless, he conjured a smile on his face, when the Swabian scrooge entered the room.
[FONT=&quot]“Welcome to Prerow, Herr Gerstenmaier. I’m glad you could make it…” [/FONT]
 

Dain

It seems to me that it is time for con Braun to launch a PR offensive with the public to hopefully get that law into serious discussion.
 

Expat

It would be interesting to see an early private or semi-private effort at spaceflight. The costs are tremendous, but we've seen EVEG willing to take on projects that will stay in the red for many, many years before they start to pay off.

Maybe an EVEG/DELAG joint venture with perhaps the Ottomans providing the real estate?

Aimed at satellite development rather than manned missions, of course.
 

rast

It is not down on any map; true places never are.
(Herman Melville)

Task Force David-Gustav was on the way to the projected space craft landing area in the Central Pacific Basin. One had passed the Suez Canal since yesterday afternoon, had marshalled off Safaga and was now proceeding down the Red Sea. The capital ship of the task force was SMS Gustav Dörr, one of the new aircraft carriers authorised in 1938. She possessed an angled deck and four catapult units, could operate yet aircraft – and had recently been modified for her role as space craft retriever.

Kurt Baumann had come aboard as part of that modification. He was a helicopter pilot operating one of the huge Rumpler Graugans (grey goose) floats gyroplanes. Two of the beasts had been deployed to the carrier, immediately triggering a discussion whether this shouldn’t be made a permanent feature, because of their obvious capacity to rescue ditched crew.

Kurt didn’t mind. The Graugänse were brandnew, especially designed for the purpose. He, like the rest of the two heli crews, was on the Rumpler Corporation’s pay roll – and was simply enjoying the trip. If the navy should decide to buy some of the copters, they would have to qualify their own personnel. Actually, he and his colleagues were lucky that the choppers had only become operational at the last moment. Otherwise, the RRA would hardly have treated them a journey to the South Sea.

Well, they were not the only civilians on board SMS Gustav Dörr. There was a whole cohort of boffins accommodated in the cabins normally reserved for air crew. For this mission, only one flight of combat aircraft and the reconnaissance flights were afloat. That was considered sufficient for the task of securing and recovering the bus and the two space farers.

One had left cold and wintery Wilhelmshaven between showers of sleet. In the Bay of Biscay, there had been raging a nasty storm. But once they had entered the Mediterranean, matters had improved – and puking bags had come out of demand. The Graugänse had been checked for damage and repairs had been conducted. Off Crete, the birds had been tested in flight – and afterwards been stored away again in their wooden boxes.

There might be more storms, the sailors were saying, in the Indic and the Pacific. One should enjoy the nice weather in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. Kurt had only been mildly seasick and had quickly recuperated. He had shot a lot of photographs – and even collected some tan on his skin, although panoramic places were rare and highly frequented.

Kurt was wondering: was it really necessary to have the space capsule come down in the Central Pacific? From what he had read, the device was landing softly on huge parachutes – and could additionally be braked down by rockets before touching the ground, if still too fast. So, why not land it in the Lüneburger Heide? – But then, there would be no expedition to Central Pacific Basin, which, for Kurt, was the journey of his life. There was no question that he ever should be able to afford such a trip from his salary.

It wasn’t really a luxury tour. He was sharing a cabin with his crew, co-pilot, radio operator and mechanic. Loo, wash tubs and showers were down the corridor. Food was acceptable, but no experience. There were no wardrobes, one had to dress from the kit bag. But it was a tremendous adventure. And he was not paying for it! On the contrary, he was getting extra money for being separated from his home and his family!
 

rast

Familiarity breeds contempt – and children.
(Mark Twain)

It was Thekla’s birthday today, and the family had gathered to celebrate. However, Johann Georg von Mitzlaff, the patriarch, was exasperated by what he was experiencing with his kin. Albert Georg, his only living son and Thekla’s husband, was drunk as a lord. That in itself was nothing unusual; but this time, Albert was edgy and quarrelsome. Normally, he was tranquil drinker, sitting in his easy chair and boozing up until falling asleep without ever uttering a bad word – or any word at all.

But there was Julia, Thekla’s sister – and a merry widow. She was goading Albert and provoking his anger. She had never accepted that her sister had married an alcoholic, and she didn’t really understand that the true actors on the Mitzlaff estate were Johann Georg and Thekla, while Albert was just allowed to lounge about without a vote. Well, the squabble between Julia and Albert was one thing; yet, there was more to agitate Albert – and Johann Georg.

Hansi – Hans Georg, Thekla’s and Albert’s son, had also come. The heir apparent of the Mitzlaff estate: a university dropout, ex-convict and prowler; long-haired, frowsy and loud-mouthed. Said he was running for a Reichstags seat, as contestant for the DFU, the peaceniks! – Hansi had dropped in without a word in advance. Claimed he was nominated for a constituency in the Upper Rhine Valley, a safe bet. Called them all dinosaurs, archaic country dwellers, fools.

Guste – Auguste Viktoria, Hansi’s younger sister, had come as well. She looked like – a slut… And she was smoking marijuana! Hansi had explained it to the family, smiling sardonically and asking Guste for a joint. It was an outrage! Guste was only sitting there and snickering, exposing her naked thighs. It was the first time Guste had come home since running away and leaving school. She had been in Berlin, one had seen her in the tabloids, with bared and painted breasts…

Yes, the whole misery had congregated on the Mitzlaff estate. Johann Georg, aged seventy, couldn’t understand all this. Where had all the serious Lutheran work ethic gone? What was driving these children? – Mitzlaff was a very successful producer of foodstuffs. They all could live here on the fat of the land. But they were refusing. Why? What was so bad in growing foodstuffs?

Okay, the COMECON maintained very high prices for foodstuffs. Compared to Russia, aliment was outrageously expensive. But it kept the farmers in Germany, France, and the Low Countries competitive and affluent, made them vote for the political parties supporting the COMECON – instead for rabble rousers like DVU, KPD or DFU. Was that bad? Certainly not; it was reasonable, very reasonable. Everybody was profiting from the system.

But Hansi was only sneering, when asked about it. It was fraud, he maintained, deception of the people. The system was producing general poverty, as people were forced to pay far too much for provisions. Cheap bread always had been important for the masses. And cheap bread was possible, look at Russia! – Not that he, Hansi, intended to propagate capitalism! No, not at all! Communism was demanding cheap bread as well. – Just look at Britain and her factory farming.

The COMECON – or at least its agricultural manifestation – was an abortion. The DFU stood for something new and different: no money for armaments, more funds for the people’s common good. Farming had to be natural and inexpensive. The industry had to respect the environment. – That wasn’t a bad programme, was it? – Germany was too fossilised, it had to change, had to become young and dynamic again…

Johann Georg could only shake his head in astonishment. He looked around: Thekla was directing the staff. Albert and Julia were exchanging insults. Guste was giggling foolishly. Hansi was beaming at him. – Was the world about to end? Was his world about to end? What the heck had gone wrong?
 
Last edited:

Expat

Hm, a hint of environmentalism there, anyway. Though 'respecting the environment' could mean another kind of environment, I guess. The economic environment that includes food prices rather than the natural environment.
 

rast

The only way round is through.
(Robert Frost)

When, during one of the innumerable pre-launch routines, the A12 rocket caught fire and conflagrated in an impressive display of pyrotechnics, many people in the Wilhelmstraße offices and Reichstags lobbies went uneasy, if not panicky. National elections were imminent – and the government would look definitely inept, if the recent Russian space success wasn’t topped by a German mission. Actually, the planned two-man mission, or rather boy-and-girl-in-space mission, had already been advertised to the public – and was keenly anticipated and discussed in the media.

For Eugen Gerstenmaier, the incident became a veritable Damascus experience. He was director of the RRA – and if the mission had to be cancelled – and subsequently the now ruling parties lost the elections, it would all be his fault. Wernher von Braun couldn’t be fired; he was irreplaceable. – Well, technically Sergei Korolev might be as good as von Braun, or almost, but he was a frigging Ukrainian. – Eugen Gerstenmaier, however, was dispensable, absolutely expendable. And, having fallen through as boss of the RRA, he might still be able to get a job as lowly pastor – or missionary, but hardly more than that…

Whatever his friend and patron Erzberger might have been scheming when launching him as director of the Reichsraumfahrtsamt, for Gerstenmaier it now became meaningless. He was the boss; and when his outfit failed, he was going to be the scapegoat. Thus, saving money suddenly became irrelevant. – And, to his utter surprise, von Braun quickly discovered that he was trying to kick in an open door, when trying to pry loose extra funding. Threats like ‘I repeatedly told him we were under-funded’ to be released in media interviews in case of non-compliance, could be shelved. Gerstenmaier suddenly had converted to an ardent believer in space exploration.

The spacecraft had already been mounted on the A12 – and had been lost as well. This proved to be a serious problem: A12s were produced in a small-scale series. Therefore, a new rocket could be put together on short notice. But the space bus had been a unique item. Lurgi of Frankfurt am Main, the producer, claimed to require four weeks to manufacture a new one, even when working twenty-four seven. Adding transport and testing, the first launch date possible almost coincided with the date of the elections.

[FONT=&quot]But only almost. If everything worked as it should, the bus with Hanna Reitsch and Erich Hartmann on board could be launched thirty-six hours before the voting stations opened. That could suffice to beat the Russians in every respect – and thus might lead to a very positive result at the ballot. Should the mission, however, end in a catastrophe… Well, Gerstenmaier refused to think about this alternative. The mission had to be a success. Or he was doomed… [/FONT]
 

Dain

I cannot really see the ruling party being willing to gamble like this. Surely they would insist on rescheduling the launch until after the election?
 

Tonyq

rast said:
The only way round is through.
(Robert Frost)

When, during one of the innumerable pre-launch routines, the A12 rocket caught fire and conflagrated in an impressive display of pyrotechnics,
Click to expand...

A spectacular image, but presumably the A12 only gets fueled just before launch, so how close to the event did this happen, and where were the crew? How did they avoid being part of this conflagration?
 
Top
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top