The Fountainhead Filibuster: Tales from Objectivist Katanga

Discussion in 'Alternate History Discussion: After 1900' started by Linkwerk, Mar 18, 2012.

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  1. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    June 1966, Galtville, Republic of Katanga

    Bob Denard was scared. He wasn't used to being scared.


    Another round in the mag. Almost full.

    I should have stayed a cop


    He's been re-filling his Sten mags a lot these days.

    Shit, I should have kept selling washing machines.... except that's how I met that bitch in the first place.


    Full. He tucked it into his webbing with the others. He got up to leave. There was no way he was going to stay inside the bunker without something to distract him from that fucking idiot former car company executive standing by the telephone board, with his Panama suits and that ridiculous schoolboy part in his hair.

    "Well, yes I understand they're using jets but...well j-just hear me out Moise, but I've run the numbers on this and it really is more cost-effective to just re-build the tracks....."

    Idiot, scowled Denard as he stalked up the stairs. He walked out of the bunker into the town square.

    A dusty square surrounded by art-deco buildings that never had quite filled up. That ridiculous Atlas statue. At least the neon slogans had been turned off when the petrochemical depot got mortared. No juice to ask who John Galt was now.

    The square was fuller now, sharp barking voices in Afrikaans, scarecrow figures of, oh, what did she call them? mundanes- one of the less polite terms for 'slave' Bob had ever heard- loading green crates into Unimogs. Something about a counteroffensive, she kept saying. Moving a whole company up to that ridiculous retro-1930's train station. Keep the links to the outside world, she said at the last speech. The world's best would rally to the call.

    Even Col.Falques was too scared to tell her the Indians had cut the main line a week and a half ago. It was a trunk line to nowhere.

    The distant pop-pop-pops were drowned out by a low howl. It darted up into the sky, a stubby barrel shape, painted bright white with those two black block letters on the side.

    Fucking Swedes pulling another gun run, eh? Denard gave an inner smirk. The more CAS missions the Tunnans were pulling, the less they would notice a southbound C-46.

    Not too happy about the low altitude...but if that guy dropped supplies on gabrielle and beatrice, he could make it to Rhodesia.

    They were good boys- all French, all colons. RPIMS, Legionaires, didn't matter. They'd all decided to take being alive as their severance pay.

    Just slip out, real quiet, maybe when the saffies all roll out to the train station......oh, fuck. She's here..

    Cigarette chomped firmly in mouth. Grey hair in a bun. Her lumpy, short figure was not complimented by the awkward, overstarched fatigues she had taken to wearing these days.

    "What the FUCK are you doing?" She wasn't screaming at him, thank god. She was stalking into the middle of the square. "Get back to work!" She screamed again at the mundanes, still cowering after the Saab's flypast. Slowly, they obeyed.

    One of them- one of the bedroom girls they were making haul mortar rounds- slipped and fell down when she tried to lift her crate again.

    Those tits don't help you work now, mon chere..

    The Leader stalked right over to her. The girl looked down at the stenciled crate, biting her lip, tears streaming down her face.


    Bob didn't think she could read.

    "You cow! You STUPID, IRRATIONAL COW!. Can you NOT comprehend logically what will happen if you don't pick up that crate?" The Leader fumbled with her holster, eventually drawing her Hi-Power.



    Into the ground in front of her. The girl whimpered.

    pop. pop.

    Into her stomach.


    Eventually the slide locked back.

    The square was silent. Even a few of the saffies had stopped to watch from behind their aviator sunglasses.

    "Oh, what?" Her voice rang out. "Are you sorry for her? Do you feel bad?."

    She waved the Browning in the air.

    "That is EXACTLY the kind of attitude. Which got us into this mess. You all feel too sorry, too weak! And now a bunch of curry-eating INTERNATIONALISTS"- she spat the last word- "are shelling my city!."

    "Get a move on, all of you!"

    She didn't have to tell Bob twice.
  2. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    After the publication of Atlas Shrugged in 1957, Ayn Rand fell into a deep, listless depression. Eventually, she emerged, throwing herself into the development of the philosophy of Objectivism.

    But a chance encounter could have pushed her in another direction, one devoted to shaping the world more directly. A chance encounter leads Rand to decide that making the "Galt's Gulch" of her hit book a reality is priority number one- a place where the rich and powerful, the geniuses weighed down by the altruism and collectivism of lesser men can forge a world based off of will and rational self-interest.

    A place rich in resources ready to be exploited and tamed by human self-interest, a place under threat from savages and weak-willed collectivist internationalists. A place called....

    Count and Bolt451 like this.
  3. lukedalton Well-Known Member

    Dec 13, 2009
    North Italy
    Awesome even if i don't know if laugh for the destiny tha Rand and her cohorts will face or cry for the revival of the Congo Free State.
    Big Butterfly for the future, if the former car executive is who i think, the Vietnam war will be fought different and the bomber crowd and the fan of massive retaliation will must search another culprit when theirs toys and pet theories will be trashed.
    Even a certain OTL head of the FED will face a grim future if tained by association with that Loony
  4. stirlingdraka Female Draka Defector Donor

    Jul 29, 2008
    European Union Northern Ireland
    This is the actual TL thread?:):D. Subscribed.:):D
  5. Spengler Free AG! Banned

    Oct 12, 2007
    Minnesota in the Place of Mayo
    I will watch this with glee.
    Last edited: Mar 18, 2012
  6. Rush Tarquin Blunder from Down Under

    Aug 9, 2008
    Shardy Socialist Republic of the Inner West
    I followed the other thread with delight. Subscribed of course.
  7. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    1957, Los Angeles, California

    These idiots don't know a great story when they see one.

    Another spec script angrily slapped down on another Hollywood bar. They must all think she's just another one of THEM.

    "It has 'shrugged' in the title" said the little man behind the desk. "Audiences aren't gonna bite on that- and if you want that radio scene in there, you should probably save us the trouble and buy yourself a radio station."

    Idiots. Scum. Little empty studio suits caring about what the audience would think. About what their effete little communist actor friends would think. Worrying about profit, and studio returns, and bubblegum-snapping teenagers. Care care care. No action.

    Did Homer care what his audience thought? Did Aristotle? Greatness never comes out of whinging about what other people want to see or hear.

    Where the hell was that Martini? She needed something to take the edge off of these pep pills. The doctor was right- it got her up in the morning, but it sure made her ragged. Who the hell works at this bar? Who the hell works at any bar?

    People who can't Achieve anything greater, that's who.

    Goddamn right.

    She'd felt so empty since finishing the book. So lost. What to do? She couldn't write novels anymore, oh no, not just that. She had to do something, to reach out, to carry the torch forwa-

    "Excuse me, Miss, is this seat taken?"

    Broad shouldered figure. Double breasted blue jacket. White pants. Blue eyes, a determined glint in his eye. Looks like a leader. The captain of a mighty ship.

    A man of greatness.

    "And you're asking why?"

    A large smile, reaching to the corners of his eye.

    "Because I know a writer in trouble when I see one."

    "I'm not in trouble"


    "You might be for today." He glanced at the rougly bound tome on the bar "But I think MGM might be in trouble for years to come."

    He sat down, ordering a scotch and soda so calmly, so forcefully, she barely noticed, but the whole bar of lazy do-nothings sprang into action.

    "MGM doesn't know a good story if it bites them in the ass. I would know." He rested his hand on her shoulder. Not an advance- equality. Strength.

    "You're a writer?"

    He nodded. "Oh, yes. I've been a great many things. Author. A US Marine. I've seen the sun rise over China and hunted Japanese submarines, and I've also fought to lead people to a brighter future."

    "You've recognized me."

    He gave a chuckle and picked up his drink, which had come from somewhere.

    "I saw you from across the bar. I loved your book. You know, a lot of people don't think science fiction can change people's lives. I know it can."

    He winked. Her martini finally arrived.

    I didn't order it like he did- concerned only with himself. It gave the others, the lessers so much clairity...

    "But what am I going to do, if not a movie? This story is's too powerful for something tawdry like cinema. The masses don't deserve this wisdom." She sighed, and gulped her pep pills.

    Maybe they would make her less self-pitying.

    "Miss Rand, you of all people should know that you already have the answer to that. You're looking in the wrong places."

    He picked himself up from his rakish slouch and looked right. at. her.

    "Miss Rand, I sense that you, too realize we live in a world where ignorant, dark forces want to stamp out all better futures. You also know that this era is the era of the individual- improving him, freeing him from negative imprinted events of the past. Some individuals possess incredible personal power."

    He understands.

    "I've been persecuted for what I believe in. Goverment thugs and grey suits shut me down at every corner when I tried to bring my message to the people. You know what I did?"

    The answer came right to her.

    "You were trying to reach the wrong people"

    "Exactly. I was trying to reach the wrong people in the wrong place. The powers that be- cops, g-men, psychiatrists, hollywood suits...they aren't ready for it. They won't let my message get out. I go over their heads."

    "The ones that really matter" mused Rand.

    "You're just as sharp as you write- you know, I'm only here in LA for another two days. Just to talk to movie stars, millionaires, people who matter. If I can get them to free their minds....."

    "You can do anything."

    A long, pregnant pause. A sip of a martini. The energy of the pills filling her.

    "So where will you go, after Los Angeles?" It was half question, half request.

    "To sea, Miss Rand!" He gestured at his own handsome blue and white garb. "To sea! Where the g-men and the tax men and the naysayers can't find me."

    A triumphant grin.

    "It's a lot like your own Galt's Gulch, Miss Rand....except I'll take a ship over a gulch any day of the week", he finished with a wink.

    It dawned on her.

    This was a turning point in her life. Like when her bitch mother gave away her precious, earned toys to charity. Like when those collectivist Bolshevik scum made her cower and flee. This was an awakening.

    Galt's Gulch.

    The ones that matter.

    Somewhere where those empty suits couldn't find her.

    Don't make the movie. Make a reality.

    He smiled, a teacher's smile.

    "You have given me...." she sat up, drawing herself up to her full- minimal- height on the bar stool "...a lot to think about, Mister?"


    "Ron Hubbard"

    And like that, with a wink and a smile, he left.
  8. Spengler Free AG! Banned

    Oct 12, 2007
    Minnesota in the Place of Mayo
    I do like the idea of a gifted scam artist like Hubbard helping make Galts Gulsh a reality.
  9. The Oncoming Storm Well-Known Member

    Dec 30, 2010
    Fighting the system from within
    Wow! Subscribed! :)
  10. Osakadave TexIowan

    Nov 13, 2008
    Small College Town in Iowa
    Looking forward to the reveal re Hubbard. (I'm assuming there's a POD that does away with his Cof$.)
  11. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    1962, Northwest Katanga Autonomous Region

    Detachment "DAGNY" was sweaty and ragged, strung out in a long line as they sauntered back to their assembly area at the construction site.

    Protecting a goddamn railroad. They pulled us off sweeps to protect a railroad that isn't even done yet.

    Denard pulled off his beret to wipe sweat from his brow as he climbed up the recently completed railbed.

    Just a hundred more yards to cold gin and shade in the management trailer.

    He had to give it to the boy wonder- management really had it down when it came to creature comforts. His boys in DAGNY could expect air conditioning, dry socks, and wet girls when the choppers lifted them back to Kolwe-Galtville.

    When. If.

    The mood was pretty triumphant back there at base. Those economist boys from Chicago flown into the new airport to meet with the boy wonder and The Leader, scheming late into the night over their ledger books, like the market just got so free it might run away from them if they stop pouring over the numbers.

    They were all doubtlessly impressed by the efficiency of the International Battalion- what was boy wonder always saying? "high speed, low-drag" or some other stupid buzz-word like that- but none of the executives or spit-shined young philosophers ever asked why exactly their prized free-market commandos were getting paid a fortune to stand around guarding airports and ugly modernist luxury apartments.

    Because they've got 2,000 empty positions that used to have white bodies in them, and without them the gendarmie is useless and uncontrollable, and all because she's decided she doesn't like countries anymore unless she's running them.

    Bob tried to brush the tension aside as he opened the door to the boy wonder's airstream.

    Need to make my report- another goddamn patrol, not a single Baluba red seen, probably because they're all cozy in the CPLF-KF base camps which have been springing up since you pulled my boys off the sweeps.

    The blast of cool air as he opened the trailler's door dissipated Denard's frustration. For the moment.

    "Hello! Bob!" A big, empty smile, a rise out of his leather chair. "You fill out your SPSR for me? Want a drink?"

    "Sorry boss, I was too busy looking for reds to fill out a Standardized Patrol Statistical Report."

    The boy wonder stopped, ice tongs in hand. He looked like a dissapointed teacher.

    "Bob." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "These reports are really important. Security, just like every other part of our project, needs to be run rationally, with modern scientific methods. We can't rely on gut feelings, which might be irrational, we need data to find these bums."

    Denard had had it. He kept enough self-control to keep his english coherent.

    "Do you want to know where they are? You want to run what happened through your precious computers back at Kolwezi?"

    -"Galtville"- interrupted the boy wonder.

    "- whatever the fuck it is!" spat back Denard. "I'll tell you where the reds are- they're out at their base camps organizing and training right now because you pencil-pushers told the Belgians to go fuck themselves and they were providing half our manpower! I just led DAGNY on a patrol the gendarmes should be doing but can't because they've got no officers! And REARDEN is streched out for two hundred kilometers just trying to secure this railway which you're building for some goddamn reason even though we've already got daily trains to Benguela!"

    "Are you done?" Boy wonder was sitting down again. He didn't wait for an answer.

    "Need I remind you of our imperative for self-reliance? Once this railway is done, we will be linked directly to the port facilities at Boma, and nothing the Portugese or even Elizabethville do will be able to keep us from free and open trade with the brightest, most produc-"

    A blessing, the door flew open. One of DAGNY's section leaders was there, panting, FAL at the ready.

    "Boss"- he was not addressing the boy wonder- "you need to come see this".
  12. Awilla the Hun Boneheaded Reactionary

    Nov 22, 2009
    The level of wishful thinking poured into this is intense, but I'm somehow morbidly fascinated. Despite having never read Ayn Rand. Continue, please.
  13. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    As I said in the thread which started this all, this is a profoundly silly idea, which is probably why I'm having so much fun writing it.
  14. tonsofun Well-Known Member

    Jul 9, 2011
    West Sussex, UK
    So the spoiled brats Rand and Hubbard are gonna rule Congo. I can see this is gonna be one happy world.:p
  15. lord caedus Very legal and very cool Donor

    Oct 31, 2008
    This just keeps getting more and more fascinating. Subscribed.
  16. thekingsguard Founder of Korsgaardianism

    Mar 28, 2010
    Virginia - near the USA-CSSA Border
    Love Ayn Rands books, love inspired works like Bioshock. looking forward to seeing them colide.
  17. Linkwerk Member

    Jan 2, 2004
    1962, Northwest of Katanga Autonomous Region

    It was hot as they jogged to the other corner of the construction site, but at least Denard didn't have to argue with that dipshit any longer.

    "They showed up right when we did, boss- I've got 1 and 3 sections in a defensive L by the gate with weapons section up on the berm" His section leader trotted beside him as Denard unslung his Sten.

    Shit. There should have been guards watching the access road. We just don't have enough fucking men.

    "How many?"

    "Just five in a gun jeep, but they've got radios."

    They just HAVE to fuck with the railroad, too, don't they?.

    "Keep everybody relaxed, don't fire first- I'll deal with these guys."

    The section leader nodded and ran back to his men.

    Denard pointed his Sten downwards and walked towards the access road, now occupied by a white-painted jeep. Three men in blue berets had dismounted and were fidgeting with their rifles, totally outnumbered by the mercenaries of DAGNY detachment.

    Their readheaded commander was showing no such nervousness, and stalked towards Denard armed with a manilla folder.

    "Ca va? Canadiennes?" Denard gave a friendly wave with his left hand, the other not straying far from his Sten.

    The commander was not amused.

    "Firstly, we're Irish, and secondly, you and the rest of your fucking Belgian thugs are under arrest."

    Denard laughed.

    "As a Frenchman, I'm deeply insulted, but as a soldier I admire your balls."

    "Soldier? Oh, that's just right fucking rich. As far as the Transitional Reconciliation Agreement is concerned, armed foreigners are criminals subject to arrest"

    The Irishman flipped open his folder.

    "And as an officer in ONUC I happen to be empowered to make such arrests. I'm sure you know the drill- come quiet and you just get deported."

    Denard smirked. "Oh dear, what if I'm not feeling quiet."

    "Then I'll call in a couple Saabs to blow away this whole goddamn construction site with 500 pounders and rockets."

    The Irishman wasn't joking.

    "Well, I'm certainly in awe of the power of the White Knights of the UN...but I'm afraid that going quietly isn't an option....."

    The Irish officer tensed up.

    "...because you can't deport me." Denard reached into his pocket. "I, and all of my men, are naturalized Congolese citizens."

    Denard handed over the passport. KATANGA REGIONAL IMMIGRATION AUTHORITY glinted in gilded type on the cover.

    "and there are no mercenaries here, Sir. We're all commissioned officers of the provincial gendarme."

    The Irishman glared.

    "Very cute. You and your fucking thugs enjoy the transitional agreement while it lasts."

    The UN officer walked away. Halfway to the jeep he turned back to Denard.

    "When your little adventure runs its course, just pray to God we get you before the locals do."

    Yeah, right. smirked Denard.

    His men chuckled as the little white jeep rolled away. Impotent little do-gooder shits, the lot of 'em.

    Of course, we're not independent, oh of course not. We just tell the UN and whoever is in charge in Leopoldville to go fuck themselves whenever we want to. Big difference that one.

    Bob smiled. Sure, telling the Belgians to bugger off was stupid as hell, but he had to give it to the old lady, the Transitional Agreement was a piece of work.
    Last edited: Mar 20, 2012
  18. LordInsane Supporter of the Alliance

    One wonders what a prolonged ONUC(-analogue) will do to Tunnan's reputation...
  19. Agentdark All glory to the Black Pharaoh

    Nov 15, 2005
    Room where the light wont find you
    Holy shit, this is hilarious
  20. Strategos' Risk Oriental Orientalist

    Mar 10, 2004
    Last edited: Mar 18, 2012
    modelcitizen likes this.
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