A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

rast

Live with your century, but do not be its creature.
(Friedrich Schiller)

Retirement... It was humdrum, downright humdrum. – Oh, he had known in advance it would be, and had tried to avoid the unavoidable. But age was merciless, and the Grand Vizier had been it as well, at the end of the day. However, it hadn't been an easy endeavour. You couldn't simply retire the head of Istihbarat and Teşkilât-ı Mahsusa. There were lots of people who thought they had a crow to pick with him, Armenians, Arabs, Greeks, Russians, Chinese, criminals of all kinds, and Shaitan knew who else...

They had provided him a new identity. He was a retired naval captain now, who had served in Yaman and Ummān for the last twenty years of his career – and had now taken residence at Mecidiye on the Gulf of Saros. The mansion was all right, the staff zealous to please, but it was boring past belief... He was a widower, officially, and had no children. It reflected reality insofar as he never had been married, and that he knew of no offspring.

Well, thinking of it, it was a pity to have no children. – But there never had been time for such matters. Oh, it had been a thrilling life, he couldn't complain. – Yet, times had changed, considerably so. There had been real wars, back then, and quite a bunch of merry armed conflicts below that level... But the invention of nuclear weapons had turned the table. Normal warfare had ceased to happen. Super bombs and artificial suns were now state of the art, killing millions of people at one dash – or turning them into a horde of cannibals...

Considering this awful evolution, retirement might seem to be a good thing, even... When had he been out in the field for the last time? Long time ago... Yeah, the War for Uyghurstan Independence... And that Chinese monster bomb had now destroyed the country, had made it uninhabitable. What a kludge! – Thereafter, it had been desk work. And because of the symptoms of old age that had begun plaguing him, he had come to terms with the desk... Fuck, he had even helped to make the Empire a nuclear power...

So, men were travelling through the void today, and were manipulating the global weather... It wasn't good, in his opinion, it only could go awry... And he was a bloody civilian now, a pensioner without clout, far away from the capital. Kadir Muharip was leaning on his walking stick and looking over the vespertine Gulf of Saros. It was a peaceful picture. He closed his eyes.
 

rast

We live in a world of endless transgressions and selfishness, and no pictures that represent us otherwise can be true.
(James Fenimore Cooper)

Now it had happened: an armed band was making trouble in the Usambaras. They had infiltrated from Kenya, but most probably were Somalis. They had raided several farms, plantations and villages, had killed forty–seven people, as far as one already was able to reconstruct events, had kidnapped about twenty–five women and girls, and had heisted lots of stuff. – It was no case for Tanga Police Department, the armed forces were supposed to take care of the outlaws. But it did have repercussions galore for Tanga District.

Karl O'Saghli, Hermann Kizwete's boss, had got so upset to suffer a mild stroke and be confined to bed by the medics. That left Hermann in charge of the criminal investigation division. There had been numerous attacks against the shanty towns, arson mostly, and some drive–by shootings. At the same time, several shops had been looted by slum dwellers. – Hermann had duly put his folks to work. All this was petty clobber. Sure, one would investigate, together with the regular police officers, and identify some culprits, but...

But, reckoned Hermann, Tanga was the ideal place to hide, or rather its shanty towns were. The Usambaras would – very soon – become very hot for the outlaws. Army and air force were going to burn the candle from both ends; they had infrared vision devices, helicopters – and finally found something useful to accomplish. So, if he was the leader of the outlaws, what would he do?

Either go back to Kenya – or seek refuge at Tanga... Slipping back to Kenya might work still, but it wouldn't necessarily stop the soldiers from attack. Especially the air force might feel tempted to throw area firebombs at them, something they wouldn't do at home. – Escaping to Tanga might be safer, even if the organisational structure had to be relinquished. The vastly overcrowded shanty towns would offer concealment. Selling the women and the looted trinkets would ensure well–being, until the local forgers had manufactured viable documents...

So, Hermann had started to establish a special network of snouts. – Most shanty towners were Christian Kenyan Bantu speakers. They didn't like the Somalis, who were largely Muslims and belonging to the Cushitic language group. That could be used, together with money, to construct a snare for the outlaws. – It was dirty work, and Hermann was glad his boss was ill. O'Saghli would never agree to something like this – without getting endorsement in advance from his SDPMA party grandees, which meant not now but somewhen later...

However, real life didn't comply. Shooting stirred Hermann from sound sleep. The prompter showed four o'clock in the morning. There were fires blazing at several places in town. The phone rang. – Alarm! The outlaws were in town! Hermann cursed and groped for his gun.
 

rast

Strange how blind people are! They are horrified by the torture chambers of the Middle Ages, but their arsenals fill them with pride.
(Bertha von Suttner)

The air in the room was stale, but at least not contaminated by tobacco smoke. STRENG GEHEIM (top secret) said the writing on the blackboard. Hence, the wooden shutters had been closed, and opening the windows was forbidden. Two rows of tube lights were providing harsh light. But at least coffee was hot and plenty, even if one was dependent on self–service. – Oberst Viktor Schenck zu Schweinsberg had just poured himself another mug of the stuff. Taking notes was not prohibited, but fairly inconvenient because they had to be registered, classified and sealed at the end of the meeting. Therefore, Schenck had refrained from annotating – and was rather relying on the coffee to keep him awake.

He was the army guy here, just listening in on the subject – and of course having to brief his superiors in due course. The Luftwaffe was going to distribute the official minutes later on, as a matter of fact, but that took time, usually two weeks. That meant he really had to pay attention to all that was said, unfortunately. – The Abwehr had found out that the Russians were deploying automated satellite bombs in outer space, nuclear bombs of course. They didn't know how many were circing in orbit already, nor could they tell how many were planned to be positioned at all. But the fact alone seemed to alarm folks here at LKL considerably.

Schenck understood the implications – significantly reduced advance warning time and improved first strike capability – well. But the army would live under the permanent threat of being nuked in a future war, so, what was all the fuss about? – Okay, the RRA said they couldn't copy the NASA stunt. Or rather not yet. They thought the Russians were about two to three years ahead concerning automated systems. However, there was no doubt whatsoever about the Reich's second strike capability. Russia would be utterly devastated, if she dared to attack Germany.

So, the Ivans had introduced a new gadget, and one that was pretty much advanced, granted. But it wasn't a game changer, not at all. – Nevertheless, the air force dudes were mightily agitated. Well, they were forced to alter a lot. Their strategic bombers, right now normally sitting on the ground waiting for alarm orders, had to be moved permanently into the air – because their bases could be hit in no time. That was quite a task, for which neither the machines nor the men were available yet. – And would the Russians perhaps diminish the role and importance of their bomber fleet, making the Luftwaffe's home defence fighter force redundant?

Civil defence was impaired at well. But there was little one could do. The first cities would be hit before public warning was out. That was regrettable. Nevertheless, it wouldn't safe the Russian cities from being nuked as well. Perhaps one would have to add several new nuclear submarines to the arsenal, just to assure destruction... But that was easily doable, said the navy representative, if funds were made available. No, there would be no fundamental change, and the army wouldn't be affected at all. These automated orbital systems could only release their bombs on preordained targets; grey–clad men and vehicles moving through the countryside were no targets for these gismos.
 
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ANARCHY_4_ALL

Any chance we can get one of those old updates about the state of affairs and technology for each military arm of Germany. It's been a while... this update for some reason made me think of the paratrooper zeppelins. I want to reread the TL again but it has gotten way too long for that.
 

rast

To be aware of limitations is already to be beyond them.
(Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel)

Training on Raumkolonie! Now, that was cute! Helga von Tschirschwitz was goggling at the schedule. Third Crew was bound to go up next week, on Wednesday! Yeah, zero gravity familiarisation, clever idea! Of course, each one of the crew, Gustav Stelzner, Franz Hülsmeyer, Bruno Bredigkeit, and herself, had been in orbit many times already. But escaping the gruelling routine down here was... – just cool.

First Crew was due to go up on Sunday already. Sure, they were always getting it on a golden platter. And Second? Ah, they were going to Sardinia for the emergency water survival course. That was fun too, although perhaps not so much in early February... Helga had seen enough. She turned around and jogged over to crew quarters.

Gustav and Franz were at the natatorium, doing their daily five kilometres. Only Bruno was about, sweating on a rowing bench. He received the news with a short whoop – and continued rowing stubbornly. He was the obstinate type, a pigheaded East Prussian, religious, zealous, and lacking a sense of humour. But his body was superb...

Helga was pretty excited – and suddenly felt sexually aroused... Bruno was smelling so temptingly. Should she offer him a quickie? Well, the bloke might decline – because he had to complete his exercise first, he was that kind of bean counter. But he was a magnificent poker, stronger and more persevering than Gustav or Franz...

No, she wouldn't ask. Let him row on. Stupid stubborn git! – Each crew member had a separate bedroom bordering on the common living space. Helga went to her room to change dress for centrifuge training. Actually, she was too early, her slot was active in half an hour only. But she had to do something...

Raumkolonie was going to be great. Helga liked floating in zero gravity and looking down on Earth – and performing the experiments! Many of them were rubbish, contrived by dotty boffins, but implementing them was fun nevertheless, most of the time at least...

Riding up was marvellous too. Only coming home was wicked. The Russians were landing on land, without encountering major problems. But RRA was still insisting on landing on water. Okay, nobody had drowned yet. But it was so cumbersome...

Bruno had finished rowing when she returned to the communal area. He was under the shower now. But the moment of sexual arousal had passed. Helga drank a glass of water and starting jogging towards the training complex.
 

rast

Every age has its kind of war, its own limiting conditions and its own peculiar preconceptions.
(Carl von Clausewitz)

Franz Josef Strauß, the German minister of war, was a stout member of the BVP, the Bavarian Popular Party, which was forming a permanent political union with the Zentrum. Being a thoroughbred Bavarian, his current position was a rather precarious one, because the ministry was dominated by Prussians and – since the extra–long tenure of Theodor Heuß – by Württembergers. Both groups had nicely apportioned the armaments sector between them. And now Strauß had arrived, determined to channel as many funds as possible into Bavarian chests.

It wasn't easy. Bavaria was an agrarian state – and the governments of late King Rupprecht had done nothing to change this. Nevertheless, there was MAN, of course, a major player in the heavy industry league, and Schkoda of Pilsen, which had fallen to Bavaria when the Austro–Hungarian Empire had decomposed. In the Great War, MAN had been a very important supplier of diesel engines for submarines. And Schkoda – almost all alone – had equipped the Austro–Hungarian artillery with guns of every variety.

Hence, Strauß' aspirations were not entirely hopeless, albeit in acute conflict with current developments. The arrival of nuclear warfare had forced the German armed forced to rethink their strategy and their armament policy. The army, still the largest service, thought mobility was the key to survival on the battlefield. They were pressing for full mechanisation. Normal infantry – even precious airborne infantry, certainly the most–vaunted asset of the last twenty years – was doomed on a nuclear battlefield. Tanks, mechanised infantry combat vehicles, mechanised artillery and mechanised logistic services were what was needed. Everything else was obsolete.

The air force was even more stringent in accepting the nuclear challenge. Their conventional static air bases and missile launch sites were vulnerable; they had to become mobile. Everything had to become mobile. Only by moving around could one hope to survive. – Or by going underground. The units had to move – and the command structure and the logistic services had to dig in deeply. At the same time, the navy was moving away from large surface craft. Submarines were the magic bullet, nuclear powered submarines – and reinforced bunkers.

In this race for mobility and protected sites, Strauß found it difficult to position the traditional Bavarian industries. Obviously, advanced Prussian companies like Siemens, AEG, Rheinmetall, Krupp and Henschel were about to get most pieces of the pie, while Daimler, Benz and DELAG of Württemberg were also part of the winning team. But it was his job to go to the Reichstag and secure the funds required for this complete reorganisation. That provided him a useful lever to make sure that Bavaria was also going to profit from the process. However, the government of King Albrecht would have to do a lot to back up these deals by providing the legal background for attracting branch establishments of the large armament companies.
 

rast

Things of this world are in so constant a flux that nothing remains long in the same state.
(John Locke)

Having just come back from an official visit to Al Zayer, Max Sikuku was ploughing through the correspondence that had gathered on his desk in Daressalam. Of course, most of it was queer rubbish. But you couldn't simply grab the whole stack and dump it into the bin, you had to read it first. And this was only the most urgent rubbish, his secretary had three more trolleys full of files and papers in store.

There was a cabinet meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. So, working through the schlok was without any alternative, sadly. But at least he could enjoy a beer while leaving over the crap. Well, actually it was the third bottle already – without that his mood had anyhow brightened up. Should he perhaps add some spirit to the equation? Some Nilpferdgeist (hippo brandy)? – Why not! This slog was only sufferable under the influence...

Al Zayer had been a glimmer of light, after all. At least, they had a solid stock of educated people, not only savage hordes of angry young men. – It was the eastern fringe that was currently disintegrating: civil war in Eritrea, with Abyssinian intervention; civil war in Somalia, encroaching on Kenya. And in–between British and French Somaliland, nominally colonies still, but factually lawless safe havens for terrorists and insurgents.

The Ottoman Empire wouldn't step in. They were controlling the sea lanes and the coastlines, but were unwilling to become entangled in guerrilla warfare on land. And they were reining back the Egyptians, who had shown signs of wanting to invade lowland Eritrea. The Abyssinians were intervening, but only in the uplands, which they obviously intended to annex. That left the murky pool of the Somalias.

There had been fighting even in Tanga District recently. Loud voices were now calling for Middle African intervention. Italian Somalia, well, former Italian Somalia, had to be pacified. The armed forces said it was doable. The MANaP leadership thought it was a good idea. And the MALU? – Hans Kenonewe, the chairman, had been on the telephone, hardly that Max had stepped through the office door.

Hans had not sounded enthused. One should stop the adventure–seekers. It was going to be an open–end rally, wickedly expensive – and ultimately abortive... Max was still undecided. The military was quite good, they had masterfully solved the Südwest Secession Crunch. And some live firing exercise was certainly useful from time to time... But... It didn't feel all right. Hans might have a point... Max took another slug of Nilpferdgeist. He had to think about it...
 
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rast

A pity about the people! They are brave enough comrades, but they have heads like a soapboiler's.
(Friedrich Schiller)

Relieved from duty in the Red Sea with the arrival of SMMAS Savalu, SMMAS M'Toa had set course for Daressalam – only to be told to take station off Eyl in Somalia. – Eyl was a village of fishermen, not much of a municipality by Middle African standards, but a respectable district capital hereabouts. There were several – now obsolete – fortresses in town, dating back from early last century, and some modern buildings erected by the Italians, all the rest were ordinary local structures.

The fishermen were pursuing their trade despite the presence of SMMAS M'Toa. One had interrogated a handful of them, or rather had tried to do so. It had been a painful process. Nobody on board spoke Italian, no fisherman spoke German. A poor pidgin of Arabic and Swahili had eventually done the trick and produced modest results. The natives were complaining that foreign fishing fleets had emptied their fishing grounds. – True, during the climax of the Food Crisis, Japanese fishing fleets had scavenged the Indian Ocean. There had been vociferous protests in Middle Africa as well.

But here in Somalia, in absence of a powerful sovereign, the Japanese had – presumably – also looted the littoral, destroying the – once rich – lobstering grounds. – Yeah, fishery had become an endangered trade. The Atlantic Ocean had been ransacked by British and COMECON fishing fleets, and in the Indian Ocean the Japanese had been on the rampage. It had been a ruthless assault, disregarding all considerations for species protection. And Middle Africa, busy to exploit all arable spots on land for supplying the hungry north, had acquiesced in it, not least because the COMECON was seen as a German enterprise.

However, one had also captured three cargo ships transporting weapons and ammunition to Somalia. One had come from the Sultanate of Sumatra, one from Greater Mysore and the third from Siam. These ships had been no local dhows, but large steel vessels carrying substantial loads. With prize crew, they had been sent to Daressalam. – But since then, nothing relevant had happened. Boredom was reigning on board.

For Karl Sikuku, it was boredom with belt and braces. The Sturmschwalbe had taken irretrievable damage during the Eritrean mission and was out of commission. Hence, the helicopter crew were abused for other duties, unpleasant – and even annoying – duties. It was a shame. But one wasn't sailor enough to become member of a prize crew and be sent home; one had no choice but to endure the indignity. He was a pilot, not a look–out and no guard, and no drill sergeant either. Supervising sailors doing a repair paintjob! What a glorious mission for a trained helicopter pilot!
 

rast

Alas, poor country, almost afraid to know itself! It cannot be called our mother, but our grave.
(William Shakespeare)

One was back in Halifax. Québec had proven too cold to persevere. A small group of volunteers had stayed behind, but the bulk of Polly Brown's forces had retreated to Nova Scotia – in good order, at least. So, Polly had indeed found some leisure time. The routine procedures were still well known to everybody; there weren't many troubles to be shot. Tom Wintringham wanted her to come to London. He said he was surrounded by traitors. He needed her to mount guard at his side. He was sending a fast cruiser.

What about Canada? – Presumably a lost cause anyway... Well, winter was going to last several months, and she would be confined to Halifax, or to Nova Scotia at the most. The Churchillian peril had been overcome. A trip to Britain could do no harm. – HMS Boadicea was due to arrive the day after tomorrow. – Okay then. It would be fine to see Old England and London again. She was an East End girl, after all. Tom Wintringham was a little bit haywire, perhaps, but not utterly off his trolley. Perhaps he was right about the situation in Westminster...

If that was the case she had to take along the Duck Brothers, her secret combat team. They were already packing up...
 

sloreck

With Polly out of Canada, what will happen there. How secure are the Canadian nukes, really the only thing keeping the USA from taking what it wants (if anything), and will any Canadians left trty and cut the ties to Britain and maybe ask to join the USA.
 

rast

sloreck said:
How secure are the Canadian nukes, really the only thing keeping the USA from taking what it wants (if anything), and will any Canadians left trty and cut the ties to Britain and maybe ask to join the USA.
Click to expand...

No nukes in Canada. The Arrows are kept in Britain and on a variety of vessels.
 

rast

Where does a thought go when it's forgotten?
(Sigmund Freud)

That old war hero was a real pest. – Initially, Wernher von Braun had tried to get him banned from the launch site, but that hadn't worked. The chap had immediately run to Director Kammler – and had obtained a permanent permit. – So, if one couldn't stop the weird general from sleuthing, one could perhaps play on him? Von Braun was a Prussian; he had some trouble understanding the Swabian veteran, but at least he had been born close to the place where the man was currently serving: Posen.

The ancient soldier was a true one–off, von Braun had quickly found out. And he was a renowned author of books about military matters. The books had been no public bestsellers, yet had found good resonance in reviews and in specialised discussion – and the soldiers were using them for training purposes. – That had tempted von Braun to interview the general in earnest. What kind of book did he actually intend to write? About war in space, really? Wasn't that science fiction?

Nay, the general had replied – or rather 'Noi' in his heavy Swabian tongue. Not at all science fiction. War was a fundamental quality of human existence. Wherever man went, war was in his retinue. Nuclear bombs had already been lifted into orbit – for igniting the Weizsäcker Suns, granted – but using some for military purposes would now be only a slight variation of the theme. – So, obviously, the man knew nothing about the bombs stored on Raumkolonie, von Braun had realised, but he was framing the issue quite correctly.

Okay, what – in the general's opinion – would happen next? – Quite easy to answer, as soon as the other space faring powers got wind of such bombs, they also were going to deploy nuclear weapons in orbit. That was dictated by simple logic. Hence, as long as there was no international agreement about keeping space neutral and weaponless, outer space was bound to become a staging area for nukes.

That was pretty much clairvoyant, reckoned von Braun, who recently had been intimated to the existence of the Russian automated orbital bombs. – Would that be all? – Of course not. Arming space craft would come next. They could destroy the orbital stuff of the enemy in case of war. That was important, because neutralising space stations with rockets from Earth's surface was very difficult. The space station was above the gravity well, it could throw all kinds of objects on rising missiles.

And the Moon? – Now, that was the ultimate military base available in Earth's sphere. Once you had established a base on the Moon you could catapult lunar rocks on everything. That was incredibly cheap and incredibly powerful. What would be the impact of several house–sized pieces of rock hitting Earth? – Von Braun had never thought of such savage occurrences before. But the man was right. Von Braun was impressed. The soldiers evidently had already taken the long view...

"All right, General Rommel," von Braun finally addressed the highly decorated veteran, "I see that you have already pretty much reasoned out the issue in advance. And I have to admit that there might be truth in your arguments. – So, what do you want me to do to support your work?"
 

rast

Under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life.
(Pyotr Kropotkin)

Being contentedly sprawled over the bed, Malcolm Little was appreciatively watching the voluminous blonde chick dress. Her name was Angela... – or was it Amanda? She was not a student, rather a party operative, certainly a competent Washington desk worker – and a proficient sex kitten here in Houston indeed... – Yeah, the good old CPUSA, a mere splinter party, insignificant and extremely dodgy. Okay, they really were not in league with the British commies, a fact they never failed to emphasise, but hardly anybody in the States did believe them.

Well, they were trying very hard to recruit him, him and his followers. He was Malcolm X, the famous Texan revolutionary and tribune of the disaffected youth, the terror of law abiding citizens. – Fuck! He was no frigging revolutionary! He was the puppet of the spooks, the Texas Security Service, which officially didn't even exist! They were using him to spy out the youngish dissenters who were so frequent hereabouts. Too frequent for the ruling clique to be comfortable with their existence.

Check! What good did it to be oil millionaire – or cattle baron – if your kids were rallying against you and your hard–won property? Malcolm could see why he had been created. Nevertheless, it was the best life he had ever led. Texas was rich and fat, and he was getting a nice piece of the pie. The state had not suffered, neither Midwest Mud Bedlam nor Canadian Refugee Crisis had impaired business and everyday life...

Malcolm's musings were rudely interrupted when Judy burst through the door screaming and launched herself on Angela. Judy was his current staple lover, the one that posed at his side for the press. – Rats! He jumped up and dashed forward to separate the girls – only to be hit on the head by a handbag that obviously had been filled with lead balls. The world went red – and then utterly black, while the sound rapidly died away...

When he reawakened, Judy was bending over him, crying. No, not crying, yelling... – at him. Fornicator! Bastard! Shitbag! she was calling him. – Hell! He was bleeding and his head was aching like fury. But Judy didn't care. She slapped his face, spat on him – and bolted, leaving him lying on the floor, naked and injured. Malcolm cursed furiously. Angela was gone as well. Eventually, he picked himself up and staggered to the restroom. Bloody chicks! To hell with them!
 

rast

Everything moves, everything passes, and there is no end. Where did it all disappear? From where did it all come?
(Taras Shevchenko)

The western Ukraine was quite something special. It had joined the Ukraine by plebiscite, when the Austro–Hungarian Empire had crumbled away in the second half of 1918, but it had distinctly been shaped by its long affiliation to Cisleithania, the Austrian part of the empire. While the east and the centre of the Ukraine had been stamped by being part of Russia, at least since 1654, the west had partaken in Central European development. Much of this had been carried forward by Polish and Jewish elements, true, but the local Ukrainians, called Ruthenes by the Viennese authorities, had profited greatly from this process and the civil liberties accorded to the subjects of the Catholic Emperor of Austria.

Today, the descendants of these people were not quite happy with the power structure found in modern Ukraine. The Hetmanate, this impudent cleptocracy, as they used to call it, smelled of steppe and Cossacks. This was the wild east, the Russian, the uncivilised heritage. The refined citizens of Lviv, the former Lemberg, Peremyshl, the former Przemyśl, and Chernivtsi, the former Czernowitz, were generally looking down on the eastern barbarians – and were often regretting the erstwhile decision to join the Ukraine. One should have formed an archduchy back then, they often were saying, and have stayed independent.

Okay, the Jewish elements would – in all probability – have joined the Heymshtot anyway, but one nevertheless would be a part of Central Europe today. Instead, one belonged to the east, the gloomy portion of Europe. – Russia had no title whatsoever on the western part of the Ukraine, but once Germany grew weak, it would gobble up the Hetmanate, good and proper, including the lands in the west. This was a worrying prospect indeed. – Many Poles, of course, were clandestinely dreaming of joining the Polish Republic, although that motion would never fly with the majority of their fellow citizens.

So, there were, in fact, two separatist movements at work in western Ukraine, on which the Dershavnoy Bespeky, the Hetmanate's state security service, had to keep tabs. – Added to this workload was, of course, monitoring the separatist movements in the east and the north, which, sponsored by Russia, were a special nuisance, but – as a rule – did not affect citizens of Ukrainian provenance; only ethnic Russians might feel attracted. – No, the western separatists, the Stary Dukhy, were far more dangerous, because they were real Ukrainians, educated, influential people, well linked up with the COMECON elites.
 

Imperator Hollandica

Rast, congratulations with this timeline’s 9th anniversary!. I believe this is one of the longest and best timeline of this forum. I have been enjoying this timeline with its almost daily updates tremandiously.
Thank you verry much and please do continue. At least for another nine years.
 

ANARCHY_4_ALL

Wow I can't believe we've been reading this TL for almost a decade. And yet we still know absolutely nothing about the author. Thank you and congratulations rast, whoever you may be.
 
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