Or rather in his alcoholic hallucinations. I imagine he only drinks at all because being drunk enables him to contact his drunk alternates in other dimensions and communicate with them.
Last edited:
A Shift in Priorities
- Thread starter rast
- Start date
- Status
I could not avoid chuckling at imagining that.Or rather in his alcoholic hallucinations. I imagine he only drinks at all because being drunk enables him to contact his drunk alternates in other dimensions and communicate with them.
[FONT="]We are Englishmen; that is one good fact. [/FONT]
[FONT="](Oliver Cromwell) [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]Preparing for battle was much more tedious than the battle itself. In battle, you needed good nerves, luck and grit. In the preparation phase, you needed… – clerks, companies of clerks, to record and file each guff; a meeting every two hours; tons of paper; plans, spreadsheets, diagrams… – It was quixotic, absolutely grotesque. General Miles C. Dempsey appreciated good staff work, but he was an army guy, accustomed to certain fixed procedures. Yet, conceiving the campaign plan for the entire BEF, which comprised land, air and sea components, was kind of a Sisyphean task. Of course, there were specialists, hordes of specialists; but to expect that – for example – a PRAF logistician and a PRA supply officer spoke the same shop language was like building on sandy ground. And one could bet that the two of them didn’t understand what the PRN cargo master was trying to tell them. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]And between the legions of soldiers, sailors and flyboys you had these pesky civilians running about and getting in the way. The indigenes were already noxious, but at least submissive; the folks from home were even more disgusting, yet unruly and quarrelsome. – There was this queer defence consultant, who – believe it or not – had tried to defect to the enemy. The man was a hobbling cripple, and a patrol had caught him promptly. Dempsey’s MI5 chief thought it was because the bloke was a US American.[/FONT]
[FONT="]“The prisoners of war he was tasked to screen – or at least some of them – were his fellow fighters when he was still an outlaw in the USA. He clearly prefers these gangsters over us. But be careful, Sir: the laddie has friends in high places. He’s a protégé of Triple C…” That was Chief Controller Canada. “who’s is said to be the secret favourite of the Field Marshal…” [/FONT]
[FONT="]Okay, so, one had packed the chap and his little party on the next cargo boat to Portsmouth. Let the blockheads at home sort things out…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]That party delegation, however, had hardly been better. What a ludicrous bunch of cranks! – Long time ago, the Field Marshal had ensured that the controller organisation did not affect the armed forces, which definitely was a mercy. And these fools had attempted to introduce party control by the back door. – No way! Forget setting up a SUP bureau in Freetown, there’s simply no space available. Look around, everything’s terribly overcrowded. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. – They truly had been intransigent. But then the shits had hit them. That had ended the bash; at least one benefit gained from this godawful tropical environment…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]But this was about the only benefit obtained. Sierra Leone was sensationally incompatible to Europeans. The medical services had to be inflated beyond all measure. And this was still the dry season… Okay, Englishmen could cope with almost everything. Though, in the days of old one would have sent Indian troops, not boys from the Midlands. – There were massive rumours about truly vile tropical diseases residing in those hills one was going to conquer. The physicians were only shrugging their shoulders. They had no clue about these illnesses. Best one avoided all contact with the natives – and never ate anything not imported from Britain or Canada, and never drank water other than the imported bottled stuff. – This was splendid guidance. It added some extra burden to the supply chain, nevertheless…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]Well, all things considered, one was still on schedule – for the most part. One would need two more months to get ready. But then, the BEF was going to be irresistible… One disconcerting thing was worrying Dempsey. Someone on the enemy side had provided the co-ordinates of G’Norebbe’s headquarters. Nothing else, only the grid co-ordinates. What was this? – Of course, he had sent a bomber force – one hundred and twenty heavies – to flatten that spot on the ground. – But somehow, he had gained the impression to have been led up the garden path… His MI6 chief had thought it was a trap. Yet, all bombers had safely returned to base. Had G’Norebbe been hit? Time would tell… [/FONT]
[FONT="](Oliver Cromwell) [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]Preparing for battle was much more tedious than the battle itself. In battle, you needed good nerves, luck and grit. In the preparation phase, you needed… – clerks, companies of clerks, to record and file each guff; a meeting every two hours; tons of paper; plans, spreadsheets, diagrams… – It was quixotic, absolutely grotesque. General Miles C. Dempsey appreciated good staff work, but he was an army guy, accustomed to certain fixed procedures. Yet, conceiving the campaign plan for the entire BEF, which comprised land, air and sea components, was kind of a Sisyphean task. Of course, there were specialists, hordes of specialists; but to expect that – for example – a PRAF logistician and a PRA supply officer spoke the same shop language was like building on sandy ground. And one could bet that the two of them didn’t understand what the PRN cargo master was trying to tell them. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]And between the legions of soldiers, sailors and flyboys you had these pesky civilians running about and getting in the way. The indigenes were already noxious, but at least submissive; the folks from home were even more disgusting, yet unruly and quarrelsome. – There was this queer defence consultant, who – believe it or not – had tried to defect to the enemy. The man was a hobbling cripple, and a patrol had caught him promptly. Dempsey’s MI5 chief thought it was because the bloke was a US American.[/FONT]
[FONT="]“The prisoners of war he was tasked to screen – or at least some of them – were his fellow fighters when he was still an outlaw in the USA. He clearly prefers these gangsters over us. But be careful, Sir: the laddie has friends in high places. He’s a protégé of Triple C…” That was Chief Controller Canada. “who’s is said to be the secret favourite of the Field Marshal…” [/FONT]
[FONT="]Okay, so, one had packed the chap and his little party on the next cargo boat to Portsmouth. Let the blockheads at home sort things out…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]That party delegation, however, had hardly been better. What a ludicrous bunch of cranks! – Long time ago, the Field Marshal had ensured that the controller organisation did not affect the armed forces, which definitely was a mercy. And these fools had attempted to introduce party control by the back door. – No way! Forget setting up a SUP bureau in Freetown, there’s simply no space available. Look around, everything’s terribly overcrowded. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. – They truly had been intransigent. But then the shits had hit them. That had ended the bash; at least one benefit gained from this godawful tropical environment…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]But this was about the only benefit obtained. Sierra Leone was sensationally incompatible to Europeans. The medical services had to be inflated beyond all measure. And this was still the dry season… Okay, Englishmen could cope with almost everything. Though, in the days of old one would have sent Indian troops, not boys from the Midlands. – There were massive rumours about truly vile tropical diseases residing in those hills one was going to conquer. The physicians were only shrugging their shoulders. They had no clue about these illnesses. Best one avoided all contact with the natives – and never ate anything not imported from Britain or Canada, and never drank water other than the imported bottled stuff. – This was splendid guidance. It added some extra burden to the supply chain, nevertheless…[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]Well, all things considered, one was still on schedule – for the most part. One would need two more months to get ready. But then, the BEF was going to be irresistible… One disconcerting thing was worrying Dempsey. Someone on the enemy side had provided the co-ordinates of G’Norebbe’s headquarters. Nothing else, only the grid co-ordinates. What was this? – Of course, he had sent a bomber force – one hundred and twenty heavies – to flatten that spot on the ground. – But somehow, he had gained the impression to have been led up the garden path… His MI6 chief had thought it was a trap. Yet, all bombers had safely returned to base. Had G’Norebbe been hit? Time would tell… [/FONT]
The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave.
(Thomas Jefferson)
Kapitänleutnant Samuel Lee Gravely Junior was craning his neck when the New York skyline was coming in sight. The City of Broken Teeth, it was called, because of the sixteen uncompleted skyscrapers, which had proven too far advanced to be safely broken down. About the same number, discontinued in an earlier state of construction, had either been finished with much reduced height – or even been demolished. – Ah, there was the Hudson Tower, still the world’s tallest building. More than 1,000 feet high it was, a true giant. But it had been designed to reach 1,500 feet. Well, from down here, one didn’t even notice that about one third was missing.
Gravely was fascinated. He had been born in Richmond, Virginia, and had spent his youth down there, until The Troubles had unrooted him and his family. This was his first visit to New York, even if in transit only. He and his men would hardly be able to see much of the most populous US city. – They had been sent to the USA in a hurry. By rail, they had transited from the Protectorate to Hamburg, Germany, where they had boarded the HAPAG ocean liner Borussia. Their mission was to take over a submarine of the Vice class from the US Navy – and to transfer it to Nzida base.
V-class meant Trans-Atlantic War vintage, about eighteen years old. Well, one was going to see in which state the boat actually was. It had been mothballed five years ago, according to the information Gravely had been provided, and was moored in – Williamsburg, Virginia, only a few miles down the James River from Richmond! – They would be picked up after disembarkment and been driven to Williamsburg. They were wearing civvies and would continue to do so until they sailed for Nzida. – That was a pity. The naval uniform of the Protectorate was copied from the one of Middle Africa, which had been copied from the one of the Kaiserliche Marine. Gravely would have liked to cause reactions by wearing the garb in public – a Negro from Virginia as proud Kapitänleutnant of the Protectorate Navy!
The tugs were channelling Borussia to berth. His men were gathering around him. Together, they were fifty-six, exactly the complement of a V-class boat. All men were Negroes, but only twelve of them had been born in the US, like Gravely. However, thirteen others had been born in Middle Africa. And, boy, these guys were really tense! American treatment of Middle Africans during the TAW still was an issue; there were wild stories circulating even today – and even in the Protectorate. – Now, Gravely himself was curious how they would be received and treated. But, at least, he knew the US…
(Thomas Jefferson)
Kapitänleutnant Samuel Lee Gravely Junior was craning his neck when the New York skyline was coming in sight. The City of Broken Teeth, it was called, because of the sixteen uncompleted skyscrapers, which had proven too far advanced to be safely broken down. About the same number, discontinued in an earlier state of construction, had either been finished with much reduced height – or even been demolished. – Ah, there was the Hudson Tower, still the world’s tallest building. More than 1,000 feet high it was, a true giant. But it had been designed to reach 1,500 feet. Well, from down here, one didn’t even notice that about one third was missing.
Gravely was fascinated. He had been born in Richmond, Virginia, and had spent his youth down there, until The Troubles had unrooted him and his family. This was his first visit to New York, even if in transit only. He and his men would hardly be able to see much of the most populous US city. – They had been sent to the USA in a hurry. By rail, they had transited from the Protectorate to Hamburg, Germany, where they had boarded the HAPAG ocean liner Borussia. Their mission was to take over a submarine of the Vice class from the US Navy – and to transfer it to Nzida base.
V-class meant Trans-Atlantic War vintage, about eighteen years old. Well, one was going to see in which state the boat actually was. It had been mothballed five years ago, according to the information Gravely had been provided, and was moored in – Williamsburg, Virginia, only a few miles down the James River from Richmond! – They would be picked up after disembarkment and been driven to Williamsburg. They were wearing civvies and would continue to do so until they sailed for Nzida. – That was a pity. The naval uniform of the Protectorate was copied from the one of Middle Africa, which had been copied from the one of the Kaiserliche Marine. Gravely would have liked to cause reactions by wearing the garb in public – a Negro from Virginia as proud Kapitänleutnant of the Protectorate Navy!
The tugs were channelling Borussia to berth. His men were gathering around him. Together, they were fifty-six, exactly the complement of a V-class boat. All men were Negroes, but only twelve of them had been born in the US, like Gravely. However, thirteen others had been born in Middle Africa. And, boy, these guys were really tense! American treatment of Middle Africans during the TAW still was an issue; there were wild stories circulating even today – and even in the Protectorate. – Now, Gravely himself was curious how they would be received and treated. But, at least, he knew the US…
Ha! That old chestnut, I'd nearly forgotten.
The problem with old construction is, who wants to take it up again? Is it still safe? Was everything properly cared for in the meantime or has the site deteriorated? Yeah, I expect this will be a problem for a while yet.
Really excited to see this storyline continue! Hmm, my predictions...
Well, in the north, this generation of Americans is coping with integration. I expect the youngest Americans will be fairly advanced (OTL 1970s levels of acceptance,) but their parents are probably pretty vocally upset. The only difference from OTL is that the law empowers black Americans to gripe as much as white Americans.
The south, on the other hand, might be unrecognizable to Gravely. The number of African Americans will be much reduced, and outward signs of hostility will be much muted. The model is OTL 1950s/60s West German attitudes towards Jews or Israel.
If he's only going to eastern Virginia, he'll miss the other two very interesting corners of the African American experience: the increasingly multi-racial Yorkists of Appalachia, and the class-based (rather than race-based) stratification along the coastal Deep South.
I think the Mittelafrikans will see their most basic fears realized, but not their deepest, darkest fears. And I think the Americans will just be both pleased beyond belief at some changes and chagrined beyond belief at others.
I've got something on the Yorkists in the works, perhaps I should speed it up.
My prediction... in the next few years there is going to be a lot of expatriate families travelling to the US or Africa depending obviously where they settled. The American sales to the WAP we are seeing here will greatly influence this. Very interesting for the remaining African-Americans in the US.
Rast-approved:
Every one who marries goes it blind, more or less.
(Henry Adams)
“Well, this isn’t too bad,” thought Esther McMahon as the congregation took up a rendition of, “Be Thou My Vision,” albeit a strange rendition. The music at her normal church- First Episcopal, down in La Grange, Kentucky was generally subdued...reserved...perhaps even severe. Nothing like these Yorkists, with their new-fangled electric guitars and a full-throated, 50-person chorus. But still, it was a good Christian hymn.
The reading had been Christian as well, First Corinthians, very traditional for any wedding. Though why the ceremony was taking place at 7:00 AM, she couldn’t tell.
This wedding was for her husband Tom’s co-worker, Aaron O'Doud. The pair worked at a brewery together outside of Louisville and had been friends for years without the subject of religion ever coming up. When Aaron invited Tom and Esther to his wedding, the pair had said yes before even thinking to ask about the service.
Yorkists weren’t particularly common outside of Appalachia, a region which vaguely ended 200-odd miles east of Louisville. There, they made up about 35% of the population these days; in some places they were the overwhelming majority. But cities also attracted more than their share of Yorkists, and Louisville was no exception, hosting a population of about 60,000 (out of a total population of around 515,000.) While not unheard of, this was still to be Esther and Tom’s first experience in a Yorkist church. They’d gone in with more than a little trepidation.
But so far, it hadn’t been too different from a normal Christian ceremony. A few hymns, a reading from the bible. Okay, there was a lot more hugging than she was used to, and whatever had been in the censer that made its way down the aisle at the start of the service...well, it wasn’t frankincense, that’s for sure. But nothing wholly offensive had happened.
What took the most getting used to was the looks of discomfort she received whenever Tom held her hand. Yorkists had a noted distaste for same-race couples. Though not forbidden, same-race relationships were frowned upon by all “proper” Yorkists. Aaron (from an old Scotch-Irish family) and his new bride, Constance (the great granddaughter of Delta slaves) were doing the community proud.
After the hymns came the vows, which strayed a bit further from Christianity than other parts of the service. The couple were exhorted to seek harmony and God’s love through the, “Secret Conduits,” at which point the pastor gestured to dish containing two small dots that looked a bit like tiny communion wafers. They would learn of their true and secret selves in the embrace of God’s holy messenger, and then be truly united.
At this, the couple ate the tiny wafers and walked alone into a back room to uproarious applause. The music struck up and the church started to empty.
“What happened to, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife?’” said Esther.
“Oh, that happens later, Sister,” said their neighbor, a cousin of Aaron’s. “First, they’ll take their first true journey together. It takes time for them to reach the holy presence, and so we’ll begin the celebration while we wait.”
“What was that they swallowed at the end?” asked Tom.
“That’s called LSD, it comes from Europe. It helps us access the Secret Conduits through which we receive holy visions. Sometimes we use different plants, too. It’s generally left up to the bride and groom, or whoever is undertaking the journey. It may take them hours to reach a holy place. That's why we start so early in the day. You’re welcome to join our celebration outside, but no one will be mad if you all left. It was real nice of you to come!”
A party was beginning outside the church with food and more music. But they were still getting those occasional looks from some of the interracial couples.
“Hours?” said Esther with a grimace.
Tom sighed, “Yeah...come on, let’s go home.”
Every one who marries goes it blind, more or less.
(Henry Adams)
“Well, this isn’t too bad,” thought Esther McMahon as the congregation took up a rendition of, “Be Thou My Vision,” albeit a strange rendition. The music at her normal church- First Episcopal, down in La Grange, Kentucky was generally subdued...reserved...perhaps even severe. Nothing like these Yorkists, with their new-fangled electric guitars and a full-throated, 50-person chorus. But still, it was a good Christian hymn.
The reading had been Christian as well, First Corinthians, very traditional for any wedding. Though why the ceremony was taking place at 7:00 AM, she couldn’t tell.
This wedding was for her husband Tom’s co-worker, Aaron O'Doud. The pair worked at a brewery together outside of Louisville and had been friends for years without the subject of religion ever coming up. When Aaron invited Tom and Esther to his wedding, the pair had said yes before even thinking to ask about the service.
Yorkists weren’t particularly common outside of Appalachia, a region which vaguely ended 200-odd miles east of Louisville. There, they made up about 35% of the population these days; in some places they were the overwhelming majority. But cities also attracted more than their share of Yorkists, and Louisville was no exception, hosting a population of about 60,000 (out of a total population of around 515,000.) While not unheard of, this was still to be Esther and Tom’s first experience in a Yorkist church. They’d gone in with more than a little trepidation.
But so far, it hadn’t been too different from a normal Christian ceremony. A few hymns, a reading from the bible. Okay, there was a lot more hugging than she was used to, and whatever had been in the censer that made its way down the aisle at the start of the service...well, it wasn’t frankincense, that’s for sure. But nothing wholly offensive had happened.
What took the most getting used to was the looks of discomfort she received whenever Tom held her hand. Yorkists had a noted distaste for same-race couples. Though not forbidden, same-race relationships were frowned upon by all “proper” Yorkists. Aaron (from an old Scotch-Irish family) and his new bride, Constance (the great granddaughter of Delta slaves) were doing the community proud.
After the hymns came the vows, which strayed a bit further from Christianity than other parts of the service. The couple were exhorted to seek harmony and God’s love through the, “Secret Conduits,” at which point the pastor gestured to dish containing two small dots that looked a bit like tiny communion wafers. They would learn of their true and secret selves in the embrace of God’s holy messenger, and then be truly united.
At this, the couple ate the tiny wafers and walked alone into a back room to uproarious applause. The music struck up and the church started to empty.
“What happened to, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife?’” said Esther.
“Oh, that happens later, Sister,” said their neighbor, a cousin of Aaron’s. “First, they’ll take their first true journey together. It takes time for them to reach the holy presence, and so we’ll begin the celebration while we wait.”
“What was that they swallowed at the end?” asked Tom.
“That’s called LSD, it comes from Europe. It helps us access the Secret Conduits through which we receive holy visions. Sometimes we use different plants, too. It’s generally left up to the bride and groom, or whoever is undertaking the journey. It may take them hours to reach a holy place. That's why we start so early in the day. You’re welcome to join our celebration outside, but no one will be mad if you all left. It was real nice of you to come!”
A party was beginning outside the church with food and more music. But they were still getting those occasional looks from some of the interracial couples.
“Hours?” said Esther with a grimace.
Tom sighed, “Yeah...come on, let’s go home.”
I have the feeling they didn't make it home and had to make a stop at a buffet.
Oh man, I didn't even think of the economic effects Yorkism must be producing! What would the munchies look like in the days before high fructose corn syrup?
Oh man, I didn't even think of the economic effects Yorkism must be producing! What would the munchies look like in the days before high fructose corn syrup?
Buffets and large quantity snacks!!
The Coffeshops in New York you mentioned a while back in a comment would probably start the trend for their shops Nice update, but I was wondering how the Yorkists could be both in favor of interracial marriage and opposed to same-race marriage. If you're in favor of the first, your kids are going to be mixed-race. Who then would you approve of them marrying?
I would think that if they're tolerant enough to approve of and even favor interracial marriage (in the late 1940s no less), then they'd have no problem with marriage between members of any race, same or otherwise.
I would think that if they're tolerant enough to approve of and even favor interracial marriage (in the late 1940s no less), then they'd have no problem with marriage between members of any race, same or otherwise.
Well, this isn't exactly TL canon, but I do have some specific ideas to answer your exact concerns. I can say they're certainly tolerant within the law.
But think about the context from which the Yorkists emerged: extreme racism in a society exploring eugenics. They've developed religious philosophies around hybrid vigor and exogamy.
A mixed-race child would have more freedom to marry than anyone, as they're already bringing a healthy mix to the child. They may even begin to form notions of their own, new race. Like a religious (and fairly extreme) version of some Latin American movements from OTL like the Chicano movement. As you can imagine, family records are going to be very important to the Yorkists, which should remind some folks of America's other big Christian offshoot.
The religion is still largely one of liberation theology, so it's unlikely to grow actively oppressive towards anyone. The looks Esther interprets as discomfort are probably more rooted in pity than dislike.
That's the idea, anyway.
It is more than a crime; it is a political fault.
(Joseph Fouché)
The Englishmen had ploughed up several football pitches of ground with their heavy bombers. Incidentally, at the same location where the force headquarters had been installed last week. – Good that Musa G’Norebbe had had his HQ relocate to a new site every third day. – Homing in by signal intelligence could be ruled out, as the HQ communicated exclusively by wire and messenger. The implication was that someone had disclosed the co-ordinates to the enemy. Yet, it was difficult to determine where the leak really was. Such clandestine information required some time to travel from source to analysis. However, Musa was ready to bet it was situated in Deygbo.
This was nasty. He had already ordered to accelerate HQ change-over to every second day. That should put him ahead of all secret information travelling from Deygbo to Freetown. – Well, he had asked Olga to have a look into this affair. After all, she was the family spook. And she was living in Deygbo, the right place for investigating the case. – Musa himself had no clue who the traitor might be. But the suspect list couldn’t be too long. He had instructed Olga to march straight to the Old Man; he must know who was reading Musa’s reports.
One could only wonder what else was given away to the enemy. Regarding the army, Musa didn’t worry much: there were no great secrets to be betrayed. But concerning the air force and the navy, great damage could be done. Neither the well hidden airfields nor the submarine base at Nzida could withstand a visit by the English bomber force. Especially since the English evidently possessed a well working guidance system; at least, they had precisely hit the abandoned HQ site.
Had the negotiations with the Temne and Mende been revealed too? And if so, had the outcome been ratted out as well? – This might have unpleasant consequences. The English were slow, but given ample time to react, they might pre-empt the declarations of independence – and occupy the territories. That could save Kono Land from invasion short-term, but would spoil the own campaign plan. So, one better started to hammer out a new set of contingency plans.
Asa Randolph had appraised him about the diplomatic play, when passing by on the way back to Deygbo. Immediately, after the Temne and Mende had declared independence, the Protectorate, Ala Ka Kuma, Al Zayer, Tunisia, Morocco, Middle Africa, the Union of South Africa, the Cape Republic and the Empire of Ethiopia were going to recognise the new states. It was hoped that the Emirate of Egypt would join as well, but that was still undecided. At the same time, mutual treaties of co-operation and support would come to fruition between the new states and the Protectorate, Ala Ka Kuma, Morocco and Middle Africa.
It was a great game. It was hoped that it would lead to the final breakdown of colonialism in Africa. Preliminary talks with the Ashanti had already begun. And the Italians had been advised to speed up emancipation of their colonies, before it was too late. Musa had been utterly surprised to hear all this. But Asa had only smiled. It was the Old Man’s master plan, he had explained. While the English were scraping together their forces for the big push in Sierra Leone, one was creating mischief for them all over Africa.
(Joseph Fouché)
The Englishmen had ploughed up several football pitches of ground with their heavy bombers. Incidentally, at the same location where the force headquarters had been installed last week. – Good that Musa G’Norebbe had had his HQ relocate to a new site every third day. – Homing in by signal intelligence could be ruled out, as the HQ communicated exclusively by wire and messenger. The implication was that someone had disclosed the co-ordinates to the enemy. Yet, it was difficult to determine where the leak really was. Such clandestine information required some time to travel from source to analysis. However, Musa was ready to bet it was situated in Deygbo.
This was nasty. He had already ordered to accelerate HQ change-over to every second day. That should put him ahead of all secret information travelling from Deygbo to Freetown. – Well, he had asked Olga to have a look into this affair. After all, she was the family spook. And she was living in Deygbo, the right place for investigating the case. – Musa himself had no clue who the traitor might be. But the suspect list couldn’t be too long. He had instructed Olga to march straight to the Old Man; he must know who was reading Musa’s reports.
One could only wonder what else was given away to the enemy. Regarding the army, Musa didn’t worry much: there were no great secrets to be betrayed. But concerning the air force and the navy, great damage could be done. Neither the well hidden airfields nor the submarine base at Nzida could withstand a visit by the English bomber force. Especially since the English evidently possessed a well working guidance system; at least, they had precisely hit the abandoned HQ site.
Had the negotiations with the Temne and Mende been revealed too? And if so, had the outcome been ratted out as well? – This might have unpleasant consequences. The English were slow, but given ample time to react, they might pre-empt the declarations of independence – and occupy the territories. That could save Kono Land from invasion short-term, but would spoil the own campaign plan. So, one better started to hammer out a new set of contingency plans.
Asa Randolph had appraised him about the diplomatic play, when passing by on the way back to Deygbo. Immediately, after the Temne and Mende had declared independence, the Protectorate, Ala Ka Kuma, Al Zayer, Tunisia, Morocco, Middle Africa, the Union of South Africa, the Cape Republic and the Empire of Ethiopia were going to recognise the new states. It was hoped that the Emirate of Egypt would join as well, but that was still undecided. At the same time, mutual treaties of co-operation and support would come to fruition between the new states and the Protectorate, Ala Ka Kuma, Morocco and Middle Africa.
It was a great game. It was hoped that it would lead to the final breakdown of colonialism in Africa. Preliminary talks with the Ashanti had already begun. And the Italians had been advised to speed up emancipation of their colonies, before it was too late. Musa had been utterly surprised to hear all this. But Asa had only smiled. It was the Old Man’s master plan, he had explained. While the English were scraping together their forces for the big push in Sierra Leone, one was creating mischief for them all over Africa.
I do love diplomatic wrangling, and this is a first rate example!
If everyone's gearing up to declare liberation the goal of all continental powers, I am dying to know what other backroom discussions are ongoing- MA and SA plans for booting out the British in the Rhodesias, whether the Portuguese will be spared after their assistance in the SW War, official opposition to the remaining French presence (obviously in FOM, but elsewhere, too.) And the curious little case of Spain's enclave in MA.
If everyone's gearing up to declare liberation the goal of all continental powers, I am dying to know what other backroom discussions are ongoing- MA and SA plans for booting out the British in the Rhodesias, whether the Portuguese will be spared after their assistance in the SW War, official opposition to the remaining French presence (obviously in FOM, but elsewhere, too.) And the curious little case of Spain's enclave in MA.
Alright everyone the Turtledove polls are now up. ASIP and rast are up for Best Continuing Early 20th Century, Best Continuing Character(Gudrun and Siegfried Hitler), and Perkins Award for Outstanding Contributions to AH. SO GET OUT AND VOTE NOW... please
I had thought about cocaine in a kind of day-dream.
(Sigmund Freud)
Ulrike Freifrau von Drosedow was lolling in the warm Mediterranean daylight. It was May still, therefore the sun wasn’t scorching yet. Protected from the brisk sea wind, the Forano, one could superbly tan the skin. – Ulrike had managed to sell Castle Drosedow despite the turmoil in Südwest. One of the wealthier neighbours had felt like acquiring a lordly house for his numerous family. Now, the ground and the mansion had generated just the money to pay off the Disconto Gesellschaft. But the cattle and the horses, on which the greedy bankers had had no handle, had flushed a substantial amount into Ulrike’s purse. That meant Mechthild Viktoria and Gloria Auguste could continue their wickedly expensive boarding school education in Switzerland, and Ulrike could contemplate a comfortable life without labour.
Oh well, at least for a few years. Sadly, the money wouldn’t last forever. The girls could finish school. That was good. But beyond that point in time, about four years in the future, Ulrike would require a new source of income. That problem was worrying her a little bit, like an unpleasant notion nagging at her well-being. – Good God! She had survived Justus and his unsavoury habits. Somehow or other, she would weather this affair as well. Right now, she still had funds to invest. She only needed a dazzling idea.
Justus had been a blithering idiot. Inept as a cattle rancher, incompetent in matters financial, he had spent his days screwing the female staff. That was how he had died. Stark naked, banging Sophie, the housemaid, at dawn, working off the morning wood. – It had been a disgrace. Getting the corpse dressed had been an ordeal. And this black police officer from Middle Africa had smelled a rat. But with the help of the staff, she had succeeded in getting rid of him. – Oh yes, a political imbecile Justus had been as well, picking false friends – and then trying to betray them. Just one fatal mistake too much…
Okay, that were ghosts of the past; they would slowly decompose. She had to look to the future. – There was this man, whom she had met when shopping in downtown Naples. Luigi, last name forgotten alas, an attractive chap; Italian charm and pleasant maleness… Luigi had told her he was looking for investors. His new company was working in herbs and spices. There would be a high yield for those who helped him get going. – Well, she would have to check his details. She was not a jackass like Justus. – But lying in the strong arms of Luigi must be wonderful…
(Sigmund Freud)
Ulrike Freifrau von Drosedow was lolling in the warm Mediterranean daylight. It was May still, therefore the sun wasn’t scorching yet. Protected from the brisk sea wind, the Forano, one could superbly tan the skin. – Ulrike had managed to sell Castle Drosedow despite the turmoil in Südwest. One of the wealthier neighbours had felt like acquiring a lordly house for his numerous family. Now, the ground and the mansion had generated just the money to pay off the Disconto Gesellschaft. But the cattle and the horses, on which the greedy bankers had had no handle, had flushed a substantial amount into Ulrike’s purse. That meant Mechthild Viktoria and Gloria Auguste could continue their wickedly expensive boarding school education in Switzerland, and Ulrike could contemplate a comfortable life without labour.
Oh well, at least for a few years. Sadly, the money wouldn’t last forever. The girls could finish school. That was good. But beyond that point in time, about four years in the future, Ulrike would require a new source of income. That problem was worrying her a little bit, like an unpleasant notion nagging at her well-being. – Good God! She had survived Justus and his unsavoury habits. Somehow or other, she would weather this affair as well. Right now, she still had funds to invest. She only needed a dazzling idea.
Justus had been a blithering idiot. Inept as a cattle rancher, incompetent in matters financial, he had spent his days screwing the female staff. That was how he had died. Stark naked, banging Sophie, the housemaid, at dawn, working off the morning wood. – It had been a disgrace. Getting the corpse dressed had been an ordeal. And this black police officer from Middle Africa had smelled a rat. But with the help of the staff, she had succeeded in getting rid of him. – Oh yes, a political imbecile Justus had been as well, picking false friends – and then trying to betray them. Just one fatal mistake too much…
Okay, that were ghosts of the past; they would slowly decompose. She had to look to the future. – There was this man, whom she had met when shopping in downtown Naples. Luigi, last name forgotten alas, an attractive chap; Italian charm and pleasant maleness… Luigi had told her he was looking for investors. His new company was working in herbs and spices. There would be a high yield for those who helped him get going. – Well, she would have to check his details. She was not a jackass like Justus. – But lying in the strong arms of Luigi must be wonderful…
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