A Shift in Priorities - Sequel
- Thread starter rast
- Start date
If this convoy is just coming to evacuate Americans (and perhaps others) and this warlord attacks them, it will be very unfortunate for China. The USA is one country that would be willing to assist in reconstruction, but if China convulses with an analogue to the Boxer Rebellion, it will not go well.
The backbone of surprise is fusing speed with secrecy.
(Carl von Clausewitz)
Abdelmalek had studied the problem of employing poison gas against the French for a long time. It wasn't at all easy. The stuff was designed to be delivered by military hardware, namely artillery shells and aerial bombs, none of which were at his disposal. It might be possible to convert a crop–spraying plane for dispensing sulphur mustard, but in the face of absolute French air superiority such an enterprise could only be called suicidal. And sulphur mustard wasn't really lethal, it was more of a nuisance than a killer...
The people in the background, who were providing the money and the means to Abdelmalek, were offering phosgene, diphosgene and sulphur mustard. Abdelmalek had eventually chosen diphosgene. That was a reliable killer. His instigators were delivering the stuff in commercial petrol cans; at least the containers were looking like ones. Discharge was Abdelmalek's problem. – Well, he had ample experience in building and detonating improvised explosive devices, therefore, that didn't daunt him.
Selecting a suitable target was the real challenge. Diphosgene was a fluid – and had to be inhaled. Thus, he had to produce a kind of aerosol, simple gasifying wasn't possible. – Yes, it was a true conundrum. But eventually, he got it right. Actually, he didn't need more than three containers.
His target was the basilica Notre–Dame d'Afrique, which the French had erected in Saint Eugène, a suburb to the northwest of El–Behdja. The Easter service on March 25th, 1951, was the opportunity he was looking for. All the French notables – and their families – would be present. Security would be extra high, of course, but Abdelmalek knew how to fool his enemies. He had successfully bombed the Banque de France, the prefecture withal town hall, the Caserne d'Orleans, the casino and the summer residence of the governor general.
The French were relying on indigenes to do all the dirty work, that was their weak spot. And the inevitable dogs would be trained to sniff out explosives, not poison gas... To spray the stuff, he needed compressed air and spray nozzles. Yeah, it could be done without explosives. – They wouldn't die at once, diphosgene required some few hours to kill its victims. Thus, there would be a major commotion around Notre–Dame d'Afrique after the attack, a good opportunity to test the 81–mm mortar he had captured from the French...
(Carl von Clausewitz)
Abdelmalek had studied the problem of employing poison gas against the French for a long time. It wasn't at all easy. The stuff was designed to be delivered by military hardware, namely artillery shells and aerial bombs, none of which were at his disposal. It might be possible to convert a crop–spraying plane for dispensing sulphur mustard, but in the face of absolute French air superiority such an enterprise could only be called suicidal. And sulphur mustard wasn't really lethal, it was more of a nuisance than a killer...
The people in the background, who were providing the money and the means to Abdelmalek, were offering phosgene, diphosgene and sulphur mustard. Abdelmalek had eventually chosen diphosgene. That was a reliable killer. His instigators were delivering the stuff in commercial petrol cans; at least the containers were looking like ones. Discharge was Abdelmalek's problem. – Well, he had ample experience in building and detonating improvised explosive devices, therefore, that didn't daunt him.
Selecting a suitable target was the real challenge. Diphosgene was a fluid – and had to be inhaled. Thus, he had to produce a kind of aerosol, simple gasifying wasn't possible. – Yes, it was a true conundrum. But eventually, he got it right. Actually, he didn't need more than three containers.
His target was the basilica Notre–Dame d'Afrique, which the French had erected in Saint Eugène, a suburb to the northwest of El–Behdja. The Easter service on March 25th, 1951, was the opportunity he was looking for. All the French notables – and their families – would be present. Security would be extra high, of course, but Abdelmalek knew how to fool his enemies. He had successfully bombed the Banque de France, the prefecture withal town hall, the Caserne d'Orleans, the casino and the summer residence of the governor general.
The French were relying on indigenes to do all the dirty work, that was their weak spot. And the inevitable dogs would be trained to sniff out explosives, not poison gas... To spray the stuff, he needed compressed air and spray nozzles. Yeah, it could be done without explosives. – They wouldn't die at once, diphosgene required some few hours to kill its victims. Thus, there would be a major commotion around Notre–Dame d'Afrique after the attack, a good opportunity to test the 81–mm mortar he had captured from the French...
Wonder if China will end up even smaller than it is ITTL. Perhaps it will break apart, perhaps someone will try to seize the oppurtunity to invade while the Chinese are distracted, though the only country that, I assume, has the resource for that is Russia, but the government is probably too afraid given how the Russian populace feels about the last war. Plus an invasion might just give the Chinese a reason to unify again, in order to fend off the enemy. Plus there's the nukes.
Time will tell.
EDIT: Wow, I literally posted this two minutes after rast's last post. I was talking about the previous part of the story.
Time will tell.
EDIT: Wow, I literally posted this two minutes after rast's last post. I was talking about the previous part of the story.
Sheesh. Poison gas terrorist attacks too? Rast, did you have a bad year or why did you decide to turn this TL into a crapsack world?
I know right, at least as far as I can tell, there were NO military conflicts in this world before the GQDD. Now China has gone to shit, as did Korea. And France-Outre-Mer might follow in their footsteps.
It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.
(Friedrich Nietzsche)
It was only consequential that he had been appointed Commander–in–Chief, thought Général Charles de Gaulle, now that Alphonse Juin had let himself be gassed in Alger two days ago. The Easter Massacre had jolted France. Public opinion was crying for revenge. Forgotten were all lofty ideas of abandoning the FOM, which had been fancied by the parties of the left. The French elite of Alger had been dastardly murdered and the nation wanted vengeance. The scoundrels had to be caught and guillotined. The insurgency had to be annihilated.
Corresponding were the orders de Gaulle had received today from Paris. The blemish was, however, that nobody knew yet who was responsible for the 928 corpses at Notre–Dame d'Afrique, and that the prospects for ever knowing it were more than bleak. – Eh bien, the insurgency was annihilated for all practical purposes. Actually, there never had been one – at least not in the classical sense. There were no bands of guerrillas roaming the countryside, only lone perpetrators without identity. And most of these perpetrators were dead...
Even worse, they wanted him to attack the storage sites in the Libyan desert. That, of course, had been done before. One had sent out commandos, whom France would disavow in case they were caught. But most of those sites only contained malicious men armed to the teeth. And the government of the Emirate of Egypt, although perhaps not agreeing with the aims propagated by the persons behind the sites, were reacting very negative to incursions of this kind. Their air force was, sad to say, not quite incompetent.
So, yes, of course, he was going to comply with the orders received. But there was no hope of achieving anything. And an unsuccessful commander was liable to removed from his position. Especially now, when the nation was thirsting for revenge. – De Gaulle was not the type to cling to his position no matter what the cost, but as a professional soldier he resented being sacrificed for nothing. Eh bien, some action wouldn't hurt. At least, it could serve to keep the soldiers' and gendarmes' hands in...
(Friedrich Nietzsche)
It was only consequential that he had been appointed Commander–in–Chief, thought Général Charles de Gaulle, now that Alphonse Juin had let himself be gassed in Alger two days ago. The Easter Massacre had jolted France. Public opinion was crying for revenge. Forgotten were all lofty ideas of abandoning the FOM, which had been fancied by the parties of the left. The French elite of Alger had been dastardly murdered and the nation wanted vengeance. The scoundrels had to be caught and guillotined. The insurgency had to be annihilated.
Corresponding were the orders de Gaulle had received today from Paris. The blemish was, however, that nobody knew yet who was responsible for the 928 corpses at Notre–Dame d'Afrique, and that the prospects for ever knowing it were more than bleak. – Eh bien, the insurgency was annihilated for all practical purposes. Actually, there never had been one – at least not in the classical sense. There were no bands of guerrillas roaming the countryside, only lone perpetrators without identity. And most of these perpetrators were dead...
Even worse, they wanted him to attack the storage sites in the Libyan desert. That, of course, had been done before. One had sent out commandos, whom France would disavow in case they were caught. But most of those sites only contained malicious men armed to the teeth. And the government of the Emirate of Egypt, although perhaps not agreeing with the aims propagated by the persons behind the sites, were reacting very negative to incursions of this kind. Their air force was, sad to say, not quite incompetent.
So, yes, of course, he was going to comply with the orders received. But there was no hope of achieving anything. And an unsuccessful commander was liable to removed from his position. Especially now, when the nation was thirsting for revenge. – De Gaulle was not the type to cling to his position no matter what the cost, but as a professional soldier he resented being sacrificed for nothing. Eh bien, some action wouldn't hurt. At least, it could serve to keep the soldiers' and gendarmes' hands in...
If you win, you need not have to explain... If you lose, you should not be there to explain!
(Kim Sŏng–ju)
When the Japanese paratroopers were descending on his headquarters, it suddenly dawned on Kim Sŏng–ju that the chaebŏl friends must have backstabbed him. – Kim Den–suk died like a hero - or rather like a heroine. With submachine gun in hands, she led a charge of the Paek–tu guards against the rallying paratroopers. She almost succeeded in wiping out the first wave, but the Japanese had brought along abounding close air support. A fighter bomber's 23–mm guns finished off Den–Suk and her entourage. – Kim Sŏng–ju died like a rat. Deep down in the concrete corridors below the hunter's lodge he suffocated miserably when Japanese flamethrowers sucked away the oxygen. – Only some few Paek–tus managed to escape, spreading the news of their leader's death.
Kim Chŏl–ju, down south in the Yeongsan valley, was at a loss. He was an unsophisticated bully, and always had depended on his older brother's brain to think for him. Without Sŏng–ju telling him what to do, he simply continued sending people to die in the radioactive waste of Naju and Geumgang–Ri while trying to repair the wreckage. – With the scales of fortune resetting rapidly, this approach couldn't last long. When those he had earmarked for the next fatal shift rebelled, his gunmen had a hard time getting him out of harm's way. Baffled and forlorn, Chŏl–ju got drunk in his den. When he awoke hungover the next day, he was alone. His lifeguards were gone – and so were all his valuables.
Kim Yŏng–ju, the youngest of the brothers, was still tied down in Keijō, because General Yamashita's headquarters hadn't surrendered yet, when the bad news arrived. – [FONT="]Yŏng–ju was cleverer than Chŏl–ju. He had made his private arrangements for the worst case. Within the hour, he had boarded a yacht that was to carry him to the Philippines, abandoning his troops to a bleak future – but rescuing the warchest. – Thus, the Korean Insurrection ended like a flash in the pan... [/FONT]
(Kim Sŏng–ju)
When the Japanese paratroopers were descending on his headquarters, it suddenly dawned on Kim Sŏng–ju that the chaebŏl friends must have backstabbed him. – Kim Den–suk died like a hero - or rather like a heroine. With submachine gun in hands, she led a charge of the Paek–tu guards against the rallying paratroopers. She almost succeeded in wiping out the first wave, but the Japanese had brought along abounding close air support. A fighter bomber's 23–mm guns finished off Den–Suk and her entourage. – Kim Sŏng–ju died like a rat. Deep down in the concrete corridors below the hunter's lodge he suffocated miserably when Japanese flamethrowers sucked away the oxygen. – Only some few Paek–tus managed to escape, spreading the news of their leader's death.
Kim Chŏl–ju, down south in the Yeongsan valley, was at a loss. He was an unsophisticated bully, and always had depended on his older brother's brain to think for him. Without Sŏng–ju telling him what to do, he simply continued sending people to die in the radioactive waste of Naju and Geumgang–Ri while trying to repair the wreckage. – With the scales of fortune resetting rapidly, this approach couldn't last long. When those he had earmarked for the next fatal shift rebelled, his gunmen had a hard time getting him out of harm's way. Baffled and forlorn, Chŏl–ju got drunk in his den. When he awoke hungover the next day, he was alone. His lifeguards were gone – and so were all his valuables.
Kim Yŏng–ju, the youngest of the brothers, was still tied down in Keijō, because General Yamashita's headquarters hadn't surrendered yet, when the bad news arrived. – [FONT="]Yŏng–ju was cleverer than Chŏl–ju. He had made his private arrangements for the worst case. Within the hour, he had boarded a yacht that was to carry him to the Philippines, abandoning his troops to a bleak future – but rescuing the warchest. – Thus, the Korean Insurrection ended like a flash in the pan... [/FONT]
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That's precisely it, if I followed the trail of events properly. The plants here weren't for power, but were plutonium breeders and fission bomb assembly plants.
I believe the tally before the bombing was three complete weapons and several at various stages of completion. The bombing was to prevent the Koreans from coming up with an improvised delivery platform. It only takes one nuclear-armed fishing trawler with a dedicated crew sailing into a major Japanese harbor, after all.
I believe the tally before the bombing was three complete weapons and several at various stages of completion. The bombing was to prevent the Koreans from coming up with an improvised delivery platform. It only takes one nuclear-armed fishing trawler with a dedicated crew sailing into a major Japanese harbor, after all.
Yeah, I can imagine that Japan would not have liked having a nuclear armed Korea under the control of Kim and his thugs right across the sea of Japan.
Frankly, they might have been able to succeed if they had decided to take over the country but refrain from going after the nuclear facilities, making a deal with Japan that they would let Japan pull out its nuclear arsenal in exchange for allowing Korea's independence. Japan probably would have taken a deal like that and been assured that Korea had peaceful intensions, but again, this is a world that doesn't have any sort of consensus on the regulation of nuclear material, and this world in general is paying for the lack of any strong international institutions.
Yet since Korea decided that it wanted to seize control of the nukes Japan was essentially left with no choice.
Japan can rightly blame the Kim's for the radioactive contamination. And they can also charge the Koreans the money for the long clean up.
But so long as they made vague promises of autonomy with more "after" the clean up is finished they have 20 years at least before the next rebellion starts. And this time the economic development of Korea will be fully in japanese zaibatsu hands.
But so long as they made vague promises of autonomy with more "after" the clean up is finished they have 20 years at least before the next rebellion starts. And this time the economic development of Korea will be fully in japanese zaibatsu hands.
I wonder how big the "exclusion zone" will be.
In winter the preavaling winds are northwesterly (and stronger than in the summer, when they blow SE). By looking at locations of the sites hit and damaged (Naju, Geumgang–Ri, Palgeumdo) the SW coast is mostly "gone", but if the winds remain steady most of the radiation will fall into the sea (although that opens a whole other can of worms).
In winter the preavaling winds are northwesterly (and stronger than in the summer, when they blow SE). By looking at locations of the sites hit and damaged (Naju, Geumgang–Ri, Palgeumdo) the SW coast is mostly "gone", but if the winds remain steady most of the radiation will fall into the sea (although that opens a whole other can of worms).
Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.
(Benjamin Disraeli)
Yes, this was under control now, definitely. GCG had been defeated in Nigeria. Polly Brown felt worn out from lack of sleep and permanent apprehension. The strain had been worse than anything she had experienced before. Neither her adventures in the Spanish Civil War, nor pushing the British nuclear programme to success, nor her heinous sojourn in the MI5 prison had offered so much anxiety and racket. But to tell the truth, without the antidote developed by the Middle Africans, it would have been hopeless.
Well, it was alarming: why hadn't Britain come up with an antidote? The disease indubitably had its origins in British Gold Coast. Was Britain incapable of such an effort? – Polly knew the system and its weaknesses. Without someone powerful to railroad a project through, nothing was going to happen at all. Those who had been in charge in Accra had been mediocrities, at best, people without punch. But even those ruling in Lagos, the second–most important British colony, had proven inept opposite GCG.
Tom Wintringham wanted her to stay in Nigeria and stabilise the situation. That suited Polly well. Lagos was far off the beaten track. And Nigeria was presenting an interesting challenge. – Oil production was firmly in the hands of NOPEC, the Nationally Owned Petrol Exploitation Company. Their personnel were coming from Britain; indigenes were only hired for unskilled work. Thus, the locals played no part in securing Britain's strategic crude oil supply.
They were, however, busy producing palm oil, the main traditional exports of the colony. And they were coal miners, iron ore miners and tin miners. – Gold mining had been abandoned about ten years ago. – But all this accounted for a tiny portion of the population only. The vast majority of Nigerians were living in a poor subsistence economy – or rather in a diversity of primitive economies – that contributed nothing to Britain's struggle for survival.
That was a stupid way to waste resources, thought Polly. Thirty million people could become quite a factor in the international game – if employed properly. The Germans had done this in Middle Africa, which had had a population of thirty million at that time. Okay, that had tied up German national capacities for quite some time. She hardly could expect to receive that kind of support from impoverished Britain. Nevertheless, it was a daunting task...
Perhaps she could get the Middle Africans to cooperate... They were fearing the vast Nigerian crowd. She had realised that fact in her conversations with Max, that enterprising Middle African minister. They might be coaxed to invest in Nigeria, once they were assured the Nigerians stayed put. Fighting the disease had given her absolute power over the colony. Why not use it for nation building?
(Benjamin Disraeli)
Yes, this was under control now, definitely. GCG had been defeated in Nigeria. Polly Brown felt worn out from lack of sleep and permanent apprehension. The strain had been worse than anything she had experienced before. Neither her adventures in the Spanish Civil War, nor pushing the British nuclear programme to success, nor her heinous sojourn in the MI5 prison had offered so much anxiety and racket. But to tell the truth, without the antidote developed by the Middle Africans, it would have been hopeless.
Well, it was alarming: why hadn't Britain come up with an antidote? The disease indubitably had its origins in British Gold Coast. Was Britain incapable of such an effort? – Polly knew the system and its weaknesses. Without someone powerful to railroad a project through, nothing was going to happen at all. Those who had been in charge in Accra had been mediocrities, at best, people without punch. But even those ruling in Lagos, the second–most important British colony, had proven inept opposite GCG.
Tom Wintringham wanted her to stay in Nigeria and stabilise the situation. That suited Polly well. Lagos was far off the beaten track. And Nigeria was presenting an interesting challenge. – Oil production was firmly in the hands of NOPEC, the Nationally Owned Petrol Exploitation Company. Their personnel were coming from Britain; indigenes were only hired for unskilled work. Thus, the locals played no part in securing Britain's strategic crude oil supply.
They were, however, busy producing palm oil, the main traditional exports of the colony. And they were coal miners, iron ore miners and tin miners. – Gold mining had been abandoned about ten years ago. – But all this accounted for a tiny portion of the population only. The vast majority of Nigerians were living in a poor subsistence economy – or rather in a diversity of primitive economies – that contributed nothing to Britain's struggle for survival.
That was a stupid way to waste resources, thought Polly. Thirty million people could become quite a factor in the international game – if employed properly. The Germans had done this in Middle Africa, which had had a population of thirty million at that time. Okay, that had tied up German national capacities for quite some time. She hardly could expect to receive that kind of support from impoverished Britain. Nevertheless, it was a daunting task...
Perhaps she could get the Middle Africans to cooperate... They were fearing the vast Nigerian crowd. She had realised that fact in her conversations with Max, that enterprising Middle African minister. They might be coaxed to invest in Nigeria, once they were assured the Nigerians stayed put. Fighting the disease had given her absolute power over the colony. Why not use it for nation building?
This will be interesting, a new Bauer on the making. Let's expect that the commie limeys don't spoil it.
How could man rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men?
(Lǎozǐ)
Ziu Jìngmĭn had attended a mission school operated by the US Methodist Episcopal Church; consequently she had visited a college also run by the Methodists. No surprise that she later had chosen to work for a US bank. – By that time, US companies had already risen to the role of dominant foreign investors in the greater Guǎngzhōu region. – Jìngmĭn, fluent in English, Spanish and Japanese, had quickly succeeded in the loan division.
The monster cloud, the three days of darkness and the communications breakdown had ended this peaceful and prosperous time. Mister Syun, the bank director, had attempted to do business as usual. But that had failed miserably. A band of armed men had raided the bank, shot three employees, robbed all the money – and neither police nor ambulance service had shown up...
Jìngmĭn had instinctively realised that returning to her flat – she had rented a nice apartment in one of the new highrises – might not be a good idea. She had joined the parish, like many others. Reverend Mulldoon had organised the congregation of frightened church members into a viable group. Fortunately, the parish hadn't formed a relevant target for the struggling factions. They were still fighting for food, resources and means of transport.
When the fires had become rampant, Reverend Mulldoon had decided that they must leave Guǎngzhōu. The MEC owned a seminary at Dazhuang – and somehow they had managed to get there unscathed. However, between wolves, unarmed sheep were nothing but prey, the reverend had said. His connections had produced thirty rifles, ten pistols and a load of ammunition – from a forgotten reserve staging post, he had said.
Learning how to handle a rifle had been a new experience for Jìngmĭn, and not a thrilling one. But incidentally, she had turned out to be a markswoman, the best sharpshooter of the parish... Well, shooting on targets and shooting on people were two different things entirely. When a band of fighters had approached the seminary – and finally had started an assault, she hadn't scored a single hit. Yet, the sheer volume of fire meeting them had swiftly dissuaded the bravos.
Then, finally, the Americans had arrived. Marines, the reverend had explained. They had come to rescue US citizens. – But the Chinese members of the parish, about four fifths of the crowd, would also be evacuated – not to the US, rather to Hong Kong, which was controlled by the Marines. They would be safe there, protected by the might of US arms.
They were on Miaoshawei Island now, together with estimated five thousand others, about half of them Americans, and were waiting for the boats to arrive. – Jìngmĭn had never before been shelled by artillery. Therefore, she didn't know what to do when the first rounds fell. The American soldiers were yelling something she couldn't understand. She just imitated what others were doing: duck! duck! duck!
It was horrible, and it didn't stop. Jìngmĭn clawed into the ground and shrieked. Her instinct said: run away, get out of here. But she could see those who tried – being mowed down, perishing in the barrage. When a severed foot landed in front of her nose, she fainted...
(Lǎozǐ)
Ziu Jìngmĭn had attended a mission school operated by the US Methodist Episcopal Church; consequently she had visited a college also run by the Methodists. No surprise that she later had chosen to work for a US bank. – By that time, US companies had already risen to the role of dominant foreign investors in the greater Guǎngzhōu region. – Jìngmĭn, fluent in English, Spanish and Japanese, had quickly succeeded in the loan division.
The monster cloud, the three days of darkness and the communications breakdown had ended this peaceful and prosperous time. Mister Syun, the bank director, had attempted to do business as usual. But that had failed miserably. A band of armed men had raided the bank, shot three employees, robbed all the money – and neither police nor ambulance service had shown up...
Jìngmĭn had instinctively realised that returning to her flat – she had rented a nice apartment in one of the new highrises – might not be a good idea. She had joined the parish, like many others. Reverend Mulldoon had organised the congregation of frightened church members into a viable group. Fortunately, the parish hadn't formed a relevant target for the struggling factions. They were still fighting for food, resources and means of transport.
When the fires had become rampant, Reverend Mulldoon had decided that they must leave Guǎngzhōu. The MEC owned a seminary at Dazhuang – and somehow they had managed to get there unscathed. However, between wolves, unarmed sheep were nothing but prey, the reverend had said. His connections had produced thirty rifles, ten pistols and a load of ammunition – from a forgotten reserve staging post, he had said.
Learning how to handle a rifle had been a new experience for Jìngmĭn, and not a thrilling one. But incidentally, she had turned out to be a markswoman, the best sharpshooter of the parish... Well, shooting on targets and shooting on people were two different things entirely. When a band of fighters had approached the seminary – and finally had started an assault, she hadn't scored a single hit. Yet, the sheer volume of fire meeting them had swiftly dissuaded the bravos.
Then, finally, the Americans had arrived. Marines, the reverend had explained. They had come to rescue US citizens. – But the Chinese members of the parish, about four fifths of the crowd, would also be evacuated – not to the US, rather to Hong Kong, which was controlled by the Marines. They would be safe there, protected by the might of US arms.
They were on Miaoshawei Island now, together with estimated five thousand others, about half of them Americans, and were waiting for the boats to arrive. – Jìngmĭn had never before been shelled by artillery. Therefore, she didn't know what to do when the first rounds fell. The American soldiers were yelling something she couldn't understand. She just imitated what others were doing: duck! duck! duck!
It was horrible, and it didn't stop. Jìngmĭn clawed into the ground and shrieked. Her instinct said: run away, get out of here. But she could see those who tried – being mowed down, perishing in the barrage. When a severed foot landed in front of her nose, she fainted...