"What Madness Is This?" Volume II: Prophecies in the Dark
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THE RISING TIDE: SELLING DEATH
That's right! Two updates inside of three days! When was the last time that happened!
THE RISING TIDE:
SELLING DEATH
Kappsburg, Mittelafrikan Reich...
Big Bill Jennings walked while he talked, circling the long, oak table around which the government of the Mittelafrikan Reich was seated. Fuhrer von Bachenheim, a greying, stoic-looking figure in a black uniform bedecked with a chest full of medals, sat at the head of the table in a high-back chair, carved from Alpine wood and adorned with African Ankole steer horns and a massive taxidermy black eagle in between. At other chairs were other members of the Reich's government, such as Minister of Industry Klaus Schneider, Ministry of the Interior Heinrich Bohm, and Reichmarschal Wolff Sauer. Also present were various Carolinian- and American-born guests, accompanying Jennings. Before the table, facing opposite the Fuhrer's throne, was a massive map of the entire Reich, from Zambesia in the south, Tanganyika to the east, Angola to the west, and Kamerun to the north, with the Congo in the dead center. At the mouth of the mighty Congo River was a series of red lines depicting the item Jennings was here to propose: The Congo Dam.
Looking his sharpest in a trademark black suit and with caterpillar eyebrows furrowed in thought, Jennings drifted about the room as he spoke in his perfect Southron aristocratic tone, rehearsed not bred, a metal pointer stick clasped in his hands like jockey bending a riding crop. The meeting was already two hours in, featuring copious amounts of technical details on the state of the Greater Congo, from the river's 1.5 million square mile drainage basin, to the 1.4 cubic feet per second discharge at its mouth. "Gentlemen," the Cokie engineer continued, "This all brings us to the purpose of today's meeting, which the Fuhrer so nobly granted us. The reason I brought you all here, as I hope you have already guessed, good sirs, is my proposal to dam the Congo River at Neu Brandenburg, creating the largest source of hydroelectric power the world can possibly fathom. Utilizing this power, Mittelafrika--as well as my adopted home of New Cackalack, will benefit not only from the prestige of completing such a monument and testimony to the will of pure-blooded Christian power, but will leave a better, brighter future for all of Southron Africa, and thus, the Earth. One of limitless energy, and independence like as cannot be imagined."
Wolff Sauer raised a gloved hand and asked in his Teutonic baritone, "Wouldn't damming the Congo River result in catastrophic destruction to the entirety of Central Africa? I respect your imagination, Dr. Jennings, but, quite frankly, I feel the results of this project could backfire and create chaos and violence on a scale unseen outside of the Yankee war in South America."
Taking a quick inhale of damp, tropical air, Jennings paused his nervous walkabout and turned to face Sauer. "Well, mein herr," he purred in a painfully Cokie attempt at patronizing, "You are partially correct. The dam will create a short season of chaos, but only for our enemies. I say, I say, 'our' enemies, because the enemy of Mittelafrika is the enemy of New Cackalack and, by no small extension, the Confederation and the entire League of Nations. The dam will destroy our enemies totally, I say. By deliberately flooding the Congo Basin, by pouring the mighty waters of the Atlantic into the Dark Heart of Heathendom, sir, we shall find respite from this senseless guerrilla conflict against the so-called 'Congo King.' Gentlemen, I say, gentlemen, the hour of your deliverance is at hand." A dark smile formed across his chiseled, hyper-masculine face, quietly spreading from ear to ear like the wings of a Jacksonian vulture. "We all know the Reichsheer is doing it's damned finest, I say, damned finest, by George, to crush the rebellious negras of the inner-continent. The center of your beloved homeland is one of the most rugged, inhospitable places on the face of this earth, but that ain't stoppin' the Heer from crushing uprising after uprising. I commend you for your efforts, Herr Sauer."
Sauer's handlebar mustache twitched and a slight smile spread across his lips as well. "Danke, Herr Doktor! I am very proud of the work my men are doing in the field to forge us a new and safe heimat for the Teutonic people."
"Your campaign, I must say, has been masterful these long years. But we all know as well that it would be a futile effort without the assistance of the League of Nations and adventurous Cackalacky and American mercenaries, those known rather vulgarly as 'Handhunters.'"
Sauer's smile morphed into a combination of frustration and objection as he raised his hand again. "I'm sorry, Herr Doktor, but as much as I appreciate the help of outside forces, this country keeps itself together through the sheer iron will and discipline of the Reichsheer! All help is appreciated, as a wounded man accepts a bandage, but just because he is bleeding does not mean he is mortally injured."
"Reichsmarschal, you do not need a bandage, you need a tourniquet and an amputation. As much as a proud Jacksonian son of the Carolinas such as myself can appreciate brash bravado and daring-do, this is a critical situation. Did the Heer show discipline at Ruprecht Creek? I failed to see discipline when 3,000 of your finest turned a sure-fire victorious campaign to crush a small uprising of a few hundred men into a disastrous retreat."
"Ruprecht Creek was a bloody ambush! My men were completely surrounded and decided to vent their anger via seizure of supplies while on a tactical retreat to fight another day!" Sauer spat, slamming his gloved fist down upon the table and sending papers flying.
"Please, Herr Sauer, I mean no disrespect. Even the best armies sometimes experience setbacks. My point is that your boys can, and I say, I say, will experience setbacks that you cannot afford. That little 'tactical retreat' caused five friendly tribes to turn their support to the Congo King and turn a small-scale uprising into yet another front of this bloody civil war of yours. It cannot continue forever."
Von Bachenheim spoke up now, a grave look on his face. "We will find Odika, that so-called King, and we will publicly execute him. We will put his body on a spike for all to see at the gates of Kappsburg and show the Pygmyoids of the Interior that we will not tolerate any further rebellion. And then... we will have peace."
"With all due respect, mein Fuhrer," Jennings said in a syrupy-sweet intonation, "Peace will not come at the end of a gun in this country. There are simply too many uppity negras, too many pernicious rapscallions who wish to end white rule, I say. Too many pygmies in the teepee, sir, I do declare. As much as I admire the boldness and courage against all odds of Leonidas and the 500 Spartans, I do not wish Mittelafrika and--potentially--all of Africa to become a Thermopylae of the White Race. I have crunched the numbers, I say, and the result of every calculation is victory today, victory tomorrow, perhaps even next week, I say. But one day, in the not too distant future, I fear, the savage hordes will quite simply outnumber us and will learn to capture and use our weapons against us even more than they already do and they converge on Kappsburg, on Neu Brandenburg and Neu Insterburg and Lutherburg, and they will burn them to the ground, rape your women, and force you into, I do declare, slavery or death. An orgy of blood and violence and an apocalyptic end the aspirations of the New German movement to which you have dedicated your very lives to, a pledge you have made not only to your children, but your children's children as well. I may be a bit rough around the edges in my conveyance of how dire the current situation is, I say, but I declare that right now I am your country's very best hope at survival. Not only survival! But a thriving, bustling future of the Africa of Tomorrow. A White Africa. The ultimate triumph of our race's superior intellect and breeding, against all odds and damn the numbers. By utilizing the tools that God gave us, in his great, I say, in his great wisdom, we can triumph over the Inferiors of the Interior."
Sauer sat down, a look of quiet defeat sulking on his face. Others at the table showed greater interest in what Jennings was saying. The Fuhrer spoke once more. "Dr. Jennings, you are proposing putting the Congo underwater? I fail to see how sinking half our nation like Atlantis stands to benefit our people or bring victory, as you say. That's millions of square miles of territory gone."
Jennings walked over the giant map, his shiny leather shoes clicking on the waxed wooden floor. He pointed at the Congo Basin with his stick and said, "All that would go under is useless land, full of useless eaters and heathen rebels. You don't need it. It's mile after mile after mile of endless and, dare I say, worthless land inhabited by creature straight out of the darkest pits of your most fevered dreams, sir. The Dark Heart of the Dark Continent. Only by cutting out the Dark Heart can we remove the blight of Darkness from this continent and turn it into, I say, turn it into the World of Tomorrow. Your enemies will run or drown. Their 'tactical retreat' will send them hurdling like jack rabbits over the northern borders, into the Europan Sahara wasteland and onto the Mediterranean coastline. They will be someone else's problem. The ones that remain will perish by water or by the sword or resign themselves to a life of rightful servitude to the Betters of Society. The Congo Dam will give this nation more electricity and industrial power than any other, with the right import trade deals from the other members of our noble League. And after a period of renewal and stabilization we can turn our attention to the north. Europan Africa will be so overwhelmed and wrought, I say, veritably buried in fleeing Inferiors that it will bring down colonial rule. And like a vulture, or should I say, and Teutonic eagle, Mittelafrika will swoop in and one day conquer the north. The gradual impact from the dam will radically alter the climate of the Sahara forever, triggering a new era of growth, rainfall, and an end to desert. The amount of raw power and electricity generated everyday at Station 1 in Neu Brandenburg cannot even be fathomed. And gentlemen, one thousand years from now, in the halls of the Reichspalace, legions of German youths will raise their banners and sing the praises of the men who made this possible. With the Congo Dam, you will wield the power of gods, creating and snuffing out life in the eternal march to progress. Gentlemen, I do declare that this Reich will last one thousand years and one thousand more. A New Africa. A Brighter Africa. A White Africa. This will be our legacy, together."
Total silence filled the room. From the stoic, expressionless faces on all men present, to the quiet sound of the warm wind rushing through open windows, not a voice broke the quiet. Seconds passed. First ten. Now thirty. Finally, Interior Minister Bohm stood and clapped his hands together. The Industry Minister joined him next, followed by the rest of the cabinet. Reluctantly, but unable to deny the stirring promise of hope and victory, Sauer brought himself to his feet and applauded. The whole room filled with cheers and claps and hollers, even from the Carolinian and American visitors. Those foreigners were doing their job and pushing Jennings' product, for the Congo Dam was very much a product, very much an item for sale. And as he himself said, controlling the Congo Dam brought near godlike power over life and death. And there, of course, could only be one man in such a position.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Jennings raised his hands, trying to quiet the cheering Mittelafrikan officials. "Please, if I may speak yet again, if I do not bore you quite yet, I say." The room hushed and everyone once again took their seats. "I am pleased you see things my way. It is very gratifying to see a plan come together at last, years in the making. My final proposal today, my good sirs, is the creation of the CBA, the Congo Basin Authority. Utilizing money from my investors in the Carolinas, New Cackalack, and the Republican Union, I seek a contract for the construction and ownership of the future Congo Dam."
"You wish to own the cornerstone of our future?" Bohm asked, his smile beginning to fade.
"Nein, mein herr," Jennings snapped quickly in German. "Not at all. Well, not quite. I do not wish to be the sole owner of the dam, nor do I, I say, nor do I believe ownership of it by any one man would be a smart decision. While I might own a large share of the CBA, my investors would as well. As valiant and hardworking as your people may be, there is simply no feasible way the Reich could finance the construction of the Dam with your finances as they presently. Thus, the Reich would be free to buy shares in the CBA."
Sauer's face turned to one of rage. "You wish to make a corporation out of our future, then? This is Mittelafrikan soil, paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears of the Heer, and we won't hand it over to some verdammt corporation!"
"When you hear 'corporation' I want you to think 'cooperation,' sir!" Jennings said, plastering on a salesman's smile once more. "The CBA will be governed by the board of the CBC, the Congo Basin Corporation, a multi-national but Germano-centric entity fairly controlled by all the contributing investors. Please, no ill will is intended, it simple economics. Mittelafrika will always benefit from this dam, there is no way around that. But I am not here only for your country, I am here for mine. I wish to see New Cackalack prosper into the future as well, I say. The only way to guarantee our benefit is to own a stake in this, to help build it. The League will prosper as well as the Reich. Again, simple economics."
"And just who are these 'investors' of yours, Herr Doktor?" von Bachenheim asked while shuffling around and reviewing papers recently placed before him by Jennings' lackeys. "Who would have enough money to invest in such a monumental construction project? I understand the cost and scope you describe, so it makes me even more curious and yet blind to see how we could see this sort of cashflow into our nation. Surely not our rather bloated friend the Republican Union. The Americans are far too crippled and invested in South America."
Spinning around to face him and snapping his right hand into a finger-gun, Jennings looked as if he were a Raleigh street magician about to perform the finale of his greatest trick. "That is where this gets INTERESTING, mein Fuhrer!" He was practically shouting, practically clicking his heels together in excitement. "That! Is! The! Hundred! Dollar! Question!" He cried out giddily, imitating a popular talkiebox quiz show from Jacksonland. "My answer comes in the form of a question for you, sir. I say, I say, what is the number one beverage on this planet?"
Everyone present looked puzzled at this seemingly random tangent, and they definitely didn't tune into Cokie game shows. "Uhm," muttered Bohm. "Perhaps water?"
Jennings giggled softly and said, "No, no, Herr Bohm, not water, or milk either. A product. An artificial beverage. And not an alcoholic one, at that. That should narrow it down for you." After several moments of awkward silence and sideways glances between the Mittelafrikan leadership, Jennings grew too impatient to play his game anymore. "All right! I'll tell you! Gentlemen, have you ever tasted Sweet Victory?" At just that moment, several Cokie goons in suits entered the room with trays full of Sweet Victory, fresh, expensive ice cubes bobbing in the brown narcotic soda. After placing the drinks in front of each member of the government, several large, full, chilled bottles were placed in the center of the long oak table for easy refills. "Take a sip, gentlemen! For therein lies the answer to your question."
Everyone present eyed the soda somewhat suspiciously and then most reluctantly began sipping. "Mein gott!" cried a secretary. "It is so... refreshing!"
"Ja," agreed a financial minister. "It tastes rather like a... fantasie."
After taking a few sips, von Bachenheim asked Jennings, "This soda is the key to our future? Are we going to bottle American sugar-water at our dam? I fail to see the connection."
Jennings walked over the same doorway the lackeys had just used to bring in the soda. Raising his pointer stick in the air like a circus ringleader's baton, he told the Fuhrer and everyone in the room, "Gentlemen and herren, I present to you one of the richest, most successful businessmen in the history of the world! Colonel George Carver!" He whipped the door open to reveal an older black man standing directly behind, eagerly awaiting his queue. The second part of the sales-pitch. "Born the son of slaves in the American Old South, Colonel Carver, I say, Colonel Carver has built one of the most prosperous companies in the world from scratch, like a down-home fried chicken recipe, if that recipe was worth tens of millions of dollars."
Colonel George Washington Carver, appearing to be in his 70s (his birthdate was never quite pinned down by anyone), entered the room in a dignified dark blue suit with light blue checks, his curly gray hair slicked back neatly and his bushy mustache giving him a fatherly look. Under his arm was a wooden box inlaid with ivory and silver. It was shocking to most present to see a black man participating in this whole scheme, but they knew the nature of American cultist race politics, especially involving native-born Africans, was rather... dubious and gray... to say the least. Carver offered a casual hand-to-temple salute and went around the table, opening the finely crafted box he was toting and offering cigars to the various dignitaries. After a few moments of charismatic, elegant conversation, the wheeling-and-dealing millionaire won the white Germans over with his sheer personality, working hand-in-glove with Jennings to sell the Reich on the project.
The day was March 7, 1937, and William Herman "Big Bill" Jennings, the perennial salesman, Worm Cultist, and engineer of death, had just won over the Mittelafrikan government, and he knew it. Carver knew it. Everyone present knew it. While it wouldn't be until October 1, 1937 that the deal was finalized in Kappsburg with the signing of the Congo Basin Accord by all parties, the dam was already a foregone conclusion. The Accord would list Jennings as a shareholder (33 percent) and CEO of the Congo Basin Corporation and President of the Congo Basin Authority. Carver and his Sweet Victory Company owned a further 25 percent. A further, top secret deal was signed on October 2, with Carver pledging to always vote with Jennings on all matters in exchange for a further ten percent of Jennings' personal profits, thus essentially making him majority--and certainly controlling--shareholder. It was all a ruse to convince the Mittelafrikan government (35 percent) that they could counter Jennings' power. The remaining few percentages of shares were sold to various foreign investors from League nations, including several shares to Lancaster's of London, one of the Britannic Union's largest banking corporation.
"These Reichers," Jennings had warned Carver far in advance, "Are not to be trusted. You saw what they did to Pentagon Oil when ol' Kuhn died in '20. They up and nationalized the oil facilities. They took what someone else built for 'em, and they done took out the middle-man. We gotta make sure that never happens. This is the deal of a lifetime, Mr. Carver, but we need to watch each other's backs."
Construction began in 1938, mostly spearheaded by foreign workers hired by Sweet Victory instead of locals, bringing in even more non-Germans and further diluting their already small minority. It was all perfectly orchestrated by Jennings and Carver. They would forge a new frontier. They would reshape Africa in their own image. Operation
Götterdämmerung had begun, and the Reich had no idea what was coming...
THE RISING TIDE:
SELLING DEATH
Big Bill Jennings walked while he talked, circling the long, oak table around which the government of the Mittelafrikan Reich was seated. Fuhrer von Bachenheim, a greying, stoic-looking figure in a black uniform bedecked with a chest full of medals, sat at the head of the table in a high-back chair, carved from Alpine wood and adorned with African Ankole steer horns and a massive taxidermy black eagle in between. At other chairs were other members of the Reich's government, such as Minister of Industry Klaus Schneider, Ministry of the Interior Heinrich Bohm, and Reichmarschal Wolff Sauer. Also present were various Carolinian- and American-born guests, accompanying Jennings. Before the table, facing opposite the Fuhrer's throne, was a massive map of the entire Reich, from Zambesia in the south, Tanganyika to the east, Angola to the west, and Kamerun to the north, with the Congo in the dead center. At the mouth of the mighty Congo River was a series of red lines depicting the item Jennings was here to propose: The Congo Dam.
Looking his sharpest in a trademark black suit and with caterpillar eyebrows furrowed in thought, Jennings drifted about the room as he spoke in his perfect Southron aristocratic tone, rehearsed not bred, a metal pointer stick clasped in his hands like jockey bending a riding crop. The meeting was already two hours in, featuring copious amounts of technical details on the state of the Greater Congo, from the river's 1.5 million square mile drainage basin, to the 1.4 cubic feet per second discharge at its mouth. "Gentlemen," the Cokie engineer continued, "This all brings us to the purpose of today's meeting, which the Fuhrer so nobly granted us. The reason I brought you all here, as I hope you have already guessed, good sirs, is my proposal to dam the Congo River at Neu Brandenburg, creating the largest source of hydroelectric power the world can possibly fathom. Utilizing this power, Mittelafrika--as well as my adopted home of New Cackalack, will benefit not only from the prestige of completing such a monument and testimony to the will of pure-blooded Christian power, but will leave a better, brighter future for all of Southron Africa, and thus, the Earth. One of limitless energy, and independence like as cannot be imagined."
Wolff Sauer raised a gloved hand and asked in his Teutonic baritone, "Wouldn't damming the Congo River result in catastrophic destruction to the entirety of Central Africa? I respect your imagination, Dr. Jennings, but, quite frankly, I feel the results of this project could backfire and create chaos and violence on a scale unseen outside of the Yankee war in South America."
Taking a quick inhale of damp, tropical air, Jennings paused his nervous walkabout and turned to face Sauer. "Well, mein herr," he purred in a painfully Cokie attempt at patronizing, "You are partially correct. The dam will create a short season of chaos, but only for our enemies. I say, I say, 'our' enemies, because the enemy of Mittelafrika is the enemy of New Cackalack and, by no small extension, the Confederation and the entire League of Nations. The dam will destroy our enemies totally, I say. By deliberately flooding the Congo Basin, by pouring the mighty waters of the Atlantic into the Dark Heart of Heathendom, sir, we shall find respite from this senseless guerrilla conflict against the so-called 'Congo King.' Gentlemen, I say, gentlemen, the hour of your deliverance is at hand." A dark smile formed across his chiseled, hyper-masculine face, quietly spreading from ear to ear like the wings of a Jacksonian vulture. "We all know the Reichsheer is doing it's damned finest, I say, damned finest, by George, to crush the rebellious negras of the inner-continent. The center of your beloved homeland is one of the most rugged, inhospitable places on the face of this earth, but that ain't stoppin' the Heer from crushing uprising after uprising. I commend you for your efforts, Herr Sauer."
Sauer's handlebar mustache twitched and a slight smile spread across his lips as well. "Danke, Herr Doktor! I am very proud of the work my men are doing in the field to forge us a new and safe heimat for the Teutonic people."
"Your campaign, I must say, has been masterful these long years. But we all know as well that it would be a futile effort without the assistance of the League of Nations and adventurous Cackalacky and American mercenaries, those known rather vulgarly as 'Handhunters.'"
Sauer's smile morphed into a combination of frustration and objection as he raised his hand again. "I'm sorry, Herr Doktor, but as much as I appreciate the help of outside forces, this country keeps itself together through the sheer iron will and discipline of the Reichsheer! All help is appreciated, as a wounded man accepts a bandage, but just because he is bleeding does not mean he is mortally injured."
"Reichsmarschal, you do not need a bandage, you need a tourniquet and an amputation. As much as a proud Jacksonian son of the Carolinas such as myself can appreciate brash bravado and daring-do, this is a critical situation. Did the Heer show discipline at Ruprecht Creek? I failed to see discipline when 3,000 of your finest turned a sure-fire victorious campaign to crush a small uprising of a few hundred men into a disastrous retreat."
"Ruprecht Creek was a bloody ambush! My men were completely surrounded and decided to vent their anger via seizure of supplies while on a tactical retreat to fight another day!" Sauer spat, slamming his gloved fist down upon the table and sending papers flying.
"Please, Herr Sauer, I mean no disrespect. Even the best armies sometimes experience setbacks. My point is that your boys can, and I say, I say, will experience setbacks that you cannot afford. That little 'tactical retreat' caused five friendly tribes to turn their support to the Congo King and turn a small-scale uprising into yet another front of this bloody civil war of yours. It cannot continue forever."
Von Bachenheim spoke up now, a grave look on his face. "We will find Odika, that so-called King, and we will publicly execute him. We will put his body on a spike for all to see at the gates of Kappsburg and show the Pygmyoids of the Interior that we will not tolerate any further rebellion. And then... we will have peace."
"With all due respect, mein Fuhrer," Jennings said in a syrupy-sweet intonation, "Peace will not come at the end of a gun in this country. There are simply too many uppity negras, too many pernicious rapscallions who wish to end white rule, I say. Too many pygmies in the teepee, sir, I do declare. As much as I admire the boldness and courage against all odds of Leonidas and the 500 Spartans, I do not wish Mittelafrika and--potentially--all of Africa to become a Thermopylae of the White Race. I have crunched the numbers, I say, and the result of every calculation is victory today, victory tomorrow, perhaps even next week, I say. But one day, in the not too distant future, I fear, the savage hordes will quite simply outnumber us and will learn to capture and use our weapons against us even more than they already do and they converge on Kappsburg, on Neu Brandenburg and Neu Insterburg and Lutherburg, and they will burn them to the ground, rape your women, and force you into, I do declare, slavery or death. An orgy of blood and violence and an apocalyptic end the aspirations of the New German movement to which you have dedicated your very lives to, a pledge you have made not only to your children, but your children's children as well. I may be a bit rough around the edges in my conveyance of how dire the current situation is, I say, but I declare that right now I am your country's very best hope at survival. Not only survival! But a thriving, bustling future of the Africa of Tomorrow. A White Africa. The ultimate triumph of our race's superior intellect and breeding, against all odds and damn the numbers. By utilizing the tools that God gave us, in his great, I say, in his great wisdom, we can triumph over the Inferiors of the Interior."
Sauer sat down, a look of quiet defeat sulking on his face. Others at the table showed greater interest in what Jennings was saying. The Fuhrer spoke once more. "Dr. Jennings, you are proposing putting the Congo underwater? I fail to see how sinking half our nation like Atlantis stands to benefit our people or bring victory, as you say. That's millions of square miles of territory gone."
Jennings walked over the giant map, his shiny leather shoes clicking on the waxed wooden floor. He pointed at the Congo Basin with his stick and said, "All that would go under is useless land, full of useless eaters and heathen rebels. You don't need it. It's mile after mile after mile of endless and, dare I say, worthless land inhabited by creature straight out of the darkest pits of your most fevered dreams, sir. The Dark Heart of the Dark Continent. Only by cutting out the Dark Heart can we remove the blight of Darkness from this continent and turn it into, I say, turn it into the World of Tomorrow. Your enemies will run or drown. Their 'tactical retreat' will send them hurdling like jack rabbits over the northern borders, into the Europan Sahara wasteland and onto the Mediterranean coastline. They will be someone else's problem. The ones that remain will perish by water or by the sword or resign themselves to a life of rightful servitude to the Betters of Society. The Congo Dam will give this nation more electricity and industrial power than any other, with the right import trade deals from the other members of our noble League. And after a period of renewal and stabilization we can turn our attention to the north. Europan Africa will be so overwhelmed and wrought, I say, veritably buried in fleeing Inferiors that it will bring down colonial rule. And like a vulture, or should I say, and Teutonic eagle, Mittelafrika will swoop in and one day conquer the north. The gradual impact from the dam will radically alter the climate of the Sahara forever, triggering a new era of growth, rainfall, and an end to desert. The amount of raw power and electricity generated everyday at Station 1 in Neu Brandenburg cannot even be fathomed. And gentlemen, one thousand years from now, in the halls of the Reichspalace, legions of German youths will raise their banners and sing the praises of the men who made this possible. With the Congo Dam, you will wield the power of gods, creating and snuffing out life in the eternal march to progress. Gentlemen, I do declare that this Reich will last one thousand years and one thousand more. A New Africa. A Brighter Africa. A White Africa. This will be our legacy, together."
Total silence filled the room. From the stoic, expressionless faces on all men present, to the quiet sound of the warm wind rushing through open windows, not a voice broke the quiet. Seconds passed. First ten. Now thirty. Finally, Interior Minister Bohm stood and clapped his hands together. The Industry Minister joined him next, followed by the rest of the cabinet. Reluctantly, but unable to deny the stirring promise of hope and victory, Sauer brought himself to his feet and applauded. The whole room filled with cheers and claps and hollers, even from the Carolinian and American visitors. Those foreigners were doing their job and pushing Jennings' product, for the Congo Dam was very much a product, very much an item for sale. And as he himself said, controlling the Congo Dam brought near godlike power over life and death. And there, of course, could only be one man in such a position.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Jennings raised his hands, trying to quiet the cheering Mittelafrikan officials. "Please, if I may speak yet again, if I do not bore you quite yet, I say." The room hushed and everyone once again took their seats. "I am pleased you see things my way. It is very gratifying to see a plan come together at last, years in the making. My final proposal today, my good sirs, is the creation of the CBA, the Congo Basin Authority. Utilizing money from my investors in the Carolinas, New Cackalack, and the Republican Union, I seek a contract for the construction and ownership of the future Congo Dam."
"You wish to own the cornerstone of our future?" Bohm asked, his smile beginning to fade.
"Nein, mein herr," Jennings snapped quickly in German. "Not at all. Well, not quite. I do not wish to be the sole owner of the dam, nor do I, I say, nor do I believe ownership of it by any one man would be a smart decision. While I might own a large share of the CBA, my investors would as well. As valiant and hardworking as your people may be, there is simply no feasible way the Reich could finance the construction of the Dam with your finances as they presently. Thus, the Reich would be free to buy shares in the CBA."
Sauer's face turned to one of rage. "You wish to make a corporation out of our future, then? This is Mittelafrikan soil, paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears of the Heer, and we won't hand it over to some verdammt corporation!"
"When you hear 'corporation' I want you to think 'cooperation,' sir!" Jennings said, plastering on a salesman's smile once more. "The CBA will be governed by the board of the CBC, the Congo Basin Corporation, a multi-national but Germano-centric entity fairly controlled by all the contributing investors. Please, no ill will is intended, it simple economics. Mittelafrika will always benefit from this dam, there is no way around that. But I am not here only for your country, I am here for mine. I wish to see New Cackalack prosper into the future as well, I say. The only way to guarantee our benefit is to own a stake in this, to help build it. The League will prosper as well as the Reich. Again, simple economics."
"And just who are these 'investors' of yours, Herr Doktor?" von Bachenheim asked while shuffling around and reviewing papers recently placed before him by Jennings' lackeys. "Who would have enough money to invest in such a monumental construction project? I understand the cost and scope you describe, so it makes me even more curious and yet blind to see how we could see this sort of cashflow into our nation. Surely not our rather bloated friend the Republican Union. The Americans are far too crippled and invested in South America."
Spinning around to face him and snapping his right hand into a finger-gun, Jennings looked as if he were a Raleigh street magician about to perform the finale of his greatest trick. "That is where this gets INTERESTING, mein Fuhrer!" He was practically shouting, practically clicking his heels together in excitement. "That! Is! The! Hundred! Dollar! Question!" He cried out giddily, imitating a popular talkiebox quiz show from Jacksonland. "My answer comes in the form of a question for you, sir. I say, I say, what is the number one beverage on this planet?"
Everyone present looked puzzled at this seemingly random tangent, and they definitely didn't tune into Cokie game shows. "Uhm," muttered Bohm. "Perhaps water?"
Jennings giggled softly and said, "No, no, Herr Bohm, not water, or milk either. A product. An artificial beverage. And not an alcoholic one, at that. That should narrow it down for you." After several moments of awkward silence and sideways glances between the Mittelafrikan leadership, Jennings grew too impatient to play his game anymore. "All right! I'll tell you! Gentlemen, have you ever tasted Sweet Victory?" At just that moment, several Cokie goons in suits entered the room with trays full of Sweet Victory, fresh, expensive ice cubes bobbing in the brown narcotic soda. After placing the drinks in front of each member of the government, several large, full, chilled bottles were placed in the center of the long oak table for easy refills. "Take a sip, gentlemen! For therein lies the answer to your question."
Everyone present eyed the soda somewhat suspiciously and then most reluctantly began sipping. "Mein gott!" cried a secretary. "It is so... refreshing!"
"Ja," agreed a financial minister. "It tastes rather like a... fantasie."
After taking a few sips, von Bachenheim asked Jennings, "This soda is the key to our future? Are we going to bottle American sugar-water at our dam? I fail to see the connection."
Jennings walked over the same doorway the lackeys had just used to bring in the soda. Raising his pointer stick in the air like a circus ringleader's baton, he told the Fuhrer and everyone in the room, "Gentlemen and herren, I present to you one of the richest, most successful businessmen in the history of the world! Colonel George Carver!" He whipped the door open to reveal an older black man standing directly behind, eagerly awaiting his queue. The second part of the sales-pitch. "Born the son of slaves in the American Old South, Colonel Carver, I say, Colonel Carver has built one of the most prosperous companies in the world from scratch, like a down-home fried chicken recipe, if that recipe was worth tens of millions of dollars."
Colonel George Washington Carver, appearing to be in his 70s (his birthdate was never quite pinned down by anyone), entered the room in a dignified dark blue suit with light blue checks, his curly gray hair slicked back neatly and his bushy mustache giving him a fatherly look. Under his arm was a wooden box inlaid with ivory and silver. It was shocking to most present to see a black man participating in this whole scheme, but they knew the nature of American cultist race politics, especially involving native-born Africans, was rather... dubious and gray... to say the least. Carver offered a casual hand-to-temple salute and went around the table, opening the finely crafted box he was toting and offering cigars to the various dignitaries. After a few moments of charismatic, elegant conversation, the wheeling-and-dealing millionaire won the white Germans over with his sheer personality, working hand-in-glove with Jennings to sell the Reich on the project.
The day was March 7, 1937, and William Herman "Big Bill" Jennings, the perennial salesman, Worm Cultist, and engineer of death, had just won over the Mittelafrikan government, and he knew it. Carver knew it. Everyone present knew it. While it wouldn't be until October 1, 1937 that the deal was finalized in Kappsburg with the signing of the Congo Basin Accord by all parties, the dam was already a foregone conclusion. The Accord would list Jennings as a shareholder (33 percent) and CEO of the Congo Basin Corporation and President of the Congo Basin Authority. Carver and his Sweet Victory Company owned a further 25 percent. A further, top secret deal was signed on October 2, with Carver pledging to always vote with Jennings on all matters in exchange for a further ten percent of Jennings' personal profits, thus essentially making him majority--and certainly controlling--shareholder. It was all a ruse to convince the Mittelafrikan government (35 percent) that they could counter Jennings' power. The remaining few percentages of shares were sold to various foreign investors from League nations, including several shares to Lancaster's of London, one of the Britannic Union's largest banking corporation.
"These Reichers," Jennings had warned Carver far in advance, "Are not to be trusted. You saw what they did to Pentagon Oil when ol' Kuhn died in '20. They up and nationalized the oil facilities. They took what someone else built for 'em, and they done took out the middle-man. We gotta make sure that never happens. This is the deal of a lifetime, Mr. Carver, but we need to watch each other's backs."
Construction began in 1938, mostly spearheaded by foreign workers hired by Sweet Victory instead of locals, bringing in even more non-Germans and further diluting their already small minority. It was all perfectly orchestrated by Jennings and Carver. They would forge a new frontier. They would reshape Africa in their own image. Operation
Götterdämmerung had begun, and the Reich had no idea what was coming...
Betcha didn't see that coming! Bet you thought old Carver was just gonna sell cocaine candies and retire in quiet dignity. Nope! He got tangled up with Billy Graham's cowboy disciples back in the day and now he's getting involved with the biggest megaproject ever attempted, one that is run by a Worm Cultist. lol
George Washington Carver observes Operation Götterdämmerung from the deck of his pleasure yacht Cash Money (colorized, circa 1940s)
EDIT: That was a joke but in all honesty, picture TTL's Carver looking like Giancarlo Esposito. I am fine with that. lol Also, Jennings' manner of speaking is based on Foghorn Leghorn, and his personality is a blend of Colonel Tom Parker and a mish-mash of every depraved Southern gentlemen in fiction. lol
George Washington Carver observes Operation Götterdämmerung from the deck of his pleasure yacht Cash Money (colorized, circa 1940s)
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A soda company taking control of such a vast body of water is darkly hilarious and also deeply depressing slight exaggeration of real life *cough*nestle and coke cola*cough*
Deeply interested to see what the future for Carver and Götterdämmerung holds
Deeply interested to see what the future for Carver and Götterdämmerung holds
Glad to see someone picked up on the owning water bit. It's also a bit of a takeoff on the whole legend about Pepsi buying the Soviet navy in exchange for soda. Imagine a soda and candy company mercenary army in Africa. It's unbelievably bizarre and could only happen ITTL. lol In the various potential outcomes for this universe, one possible future would be Sweet Victory essentially running its own post-apocalyptic city-state in Africa. Even Fink Mfg. and Nuka Cola can't quite say that much. lol
Man, Mittelafrika is so fucked. I bet it'll stop existing in a few years. Or, if it manages to survive, it'll only be as a Cockie/Yankee puppett.
“Halt, citizen! Carver City is currently under lockdown! Citizens must have travel passes to move between the Cherry Flavour and Classic Districts”
-Sweet Victory Quality Control Officer, 2021
I made a comment a while back about Steele forcing the Business Clans to “volunteer” their own security forces to the war effort and regular grunts getting pissed about having to take orders from a glorified bank security guard. Now we’re almost at the point of a soda company running Vietnam style patrol boats and submarines
Flooding the Congo rainforest. What could possibly go wrong?
Ignores the massive amounts of carbon dioxide that would be released by the rotting of the entire forest among other consequences.
Ignores the massive amounts of carbon dioxide that would be released by the rotting of the entire forest among other consequences.
Back then (late 1930s/1940s,) even most scientists did not think global warming was going to happen or be dangerous for mankind. OTL Arrhenius discovered global warming (hypothesized as early as 1896), but if Arrhenius never discovered it in the "What Madness Is This" timeline, scientists might not have even known that human activities could 1. cause significant CO_2 release and 2. These CO_2 releases could eventually be dangerous for humanity.
I'm pretty sure Mittelafrika is going to be completely and utterly wiped out.
Limnic eruption - Wikipedia
I can see people settling along the new lake only to be killed by massive limnic eruptions a year later.
the image of the Reich specifically made for the White Race being taken over by a corporation created and owned by a black man is extremely ironic
That's what happened to the Drakian Congo Sea in Separated at Birth. Mittleafrika might very well do what the Drakians did and just let the eruptions kill off the native population while buying up property along the waterfront that they promise will be useable eventually.
Ok, ngl, Carver legit surprised me when he came out. I definitely wasn't expecting any Black Yankees getting within 15 feet of this thing, much less funding it. Money is money tho! Loved this chapter, as Cackalack's own evil closeted Foghorn Leghorn sells a dam to Mittelafrika. I'm very much curious about Operation Götterdämmerung because it doesn't seem like the Krauts are clued into it at all. Carver doesn't strike me as a Worm Cultist, although I suppose that's one possibility, albeit one I don't think is super likely. My best guess is that Jennings and Carver have their own geopolitical vision for Africa, and Mittelafrika being sublimated/dismembered is part of that scheme. Look forward to learning more! In the meantime:
Big Bill Jennings sells the Mittelafrikan Furher on the world's most genocidal power plant (1937, colorized)
Big Bill Jennings sells the Mittelafrikan Furher on the world's most genocidal power plant (1937, colorized)
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I don't think the flood of refugee's would cause French Africa to collapse like they seem to think. If anything, the sight of how much absolutely worse and more genocidal the League nations are with their colonies would likely make the natives in French Africa more willing to cooperate with the French, precisely out of fear of an invasion from the South like Jenning's described, well the climactic effects on the Sahara could be quite beneficial for the French and encourage more French settlement in the area, especially if they start taking in Latin American refugee's and settling them in the colonies like I have seen predicted on more then one occasion. The flood of refugee's in and of itself could cause issues, but they would likely be despised by the natives as much as by the French, and in a world like this I have no doubt France would be willing to take extreme measures against any that cause true issue's. I also see a lot of those refugee's who survive and integrate into French Africa absolutely HATING Mittelafrika to an extent they never did even before, and in a diaspora like that being able to organize more effectively to fund and funnel weapons to resistance that is left in the Congo, something the French would encourage to destabilize the Reich and suck up League resources. This, in and of itself, would force the Reich government (or at least what's left of it) to hitch themselves even more firmly to Jennings and Carver's corporation because they have literally no other options. Not that any of this would stop Jennings, if anything he would see it as a win, because it still causes the mass death as a sacrifice to the Worm he desired AND it creates a situation where Mittelafrika has literally no choice but to allow themselves to be puppetted if they want to survive in any form. Even if it does cause the type of Chaos that is predicted here in French Africa (which I feel Jenning's was deliberately exaggerating to convince the Mittelafrikan's that this project would be beneficial to their expansionist ambitions), Mittelafrika would itself be thrown into such chaos that the French would have more then enough time to recover and re exert their control, well Mittelafrika is dealing with the chaos and absurd climactic effects this causes within its own borders, after which what I outlined would still likely be the case even more so. I could see this being the catalyst of much better French-Native relations and more democratization in the colonies, precisely because of the effects of this closer Native-French cooperation and fear of an invasion from the South.
I think you're onto something, but I'm going to play Devil's Advocate here for a second:
Without delving too much into OTL, refugee crises IOTL over the past decade have actually destabilized countries, not necessarily because of the refugees themselves but because of how local populations have reacted. This is in a world that is much more prosperous, peaceful, and tolerant than this one. Something that's important to remember is that a lot of the places run by the French currently probably have a large, powerful Arabic speaking class working with the French. It happened IOTL, and those same "lighter" elites still run places to this day. A whole bunch of darker Africans flooding into the place will not make them happy at all. Plus, it makes the lives of the French more difficult as well.