- There's less of a psycho-Nationalist movement in the Archonate than you might think. Any die-hard irreconcilables pretty much died where they stood, volunteered to hold rearguards, or joined Louise's little Syrian adventure and were nuked/run over by tanks. By the time the whole thing was done with, the Draka had lost over a third of their population- haven't nailed down an exact number, but it's somewhere around 40%, or about 15.5 million out of a total population of 39 million Draka. For perspective, the equivalent loss in the U.S. population would be about 124 million people, out of a population of roughly 310 million today. Everyone might not have been with the armies, but everyone knows they got whipped real bad. The way I had events settle down, that kicked things into a Japan and Germany after WWII type mentality, rather than a post-WWI Germany "stabbed in the back" mentality. The Draka that did go to Madagascar were largely the ones that realized they had to change something.
I did, of course, say "largely", since I prefer writing pulp-style action to grimdark or even realism.
But oh, yes, Eric has lived through his share of assassination attempts by now.
[*BLAM* "What was that, sweetlin'?" "Just another mail bomb, Sophie. Go back to sleep."]
- Regarding the Soviet rump state: that was me riffing off Marching Through Georgia, mostly. I admit that I haven't really filled in the background for what's happened in Europe and European Russia yet. I think what makes the most sense is for there to be a nominal Russian state, but that its control over the portions of European Russia that were German and Draka occupied will be mostly theoretical. They'll be working on extending their control, but it's going to be a long time before that's a reality, and even longer before those areas are back on their feet again. Minorities such as Ukranians, Kazakhs, and Armenians are probably trying to make a go of it in their own states since the USSR is pretty much a dead letter. Whether that will stick is anyone's guess.
- Europe is also an area I haven't filled in much. England is going to be in decent shape. Spain and Portugal didn't get occupied, but they did get a dozen nukes in not a whole lot of space, so they're going to be pretty badly trashed. The best off might actually be France and the small countries to the north such as Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, etc. With the Draka driven out in March of '45 I think they would have been occupied for less than a year, so the Snakes wouldn't have had time to smash everything and enslave everybody yet. Italy fell relatively quickly to the Draka in this TL (it was secure, I think, by the time of the Draka attacking in Marching), so it won't have seen protracted combat, but it also got pretty heavily nuked in Proof. Germany and countries to the east don't really bear thinking about.
All that is just off the top of my head. I don't want to fill in too many details, in case I get an idea for more stories in this TL. Easier to write when you've left yourself some wiggle room.
- Social conditions in the Archonate: less in the way of Jim Crow or Apartheid than you might think. Here's the way I see it: things like that mostly happen when the minorities in question are big enough that the majority sees them as an economic and social threat. What I didn't really make clear was that very, very, very few serfs actually took the offer of Metic Citizenship- mostly a few very old retainers who had come to think of themselves as part of the family for "their" Draka, and who the Draka thought of pretty much the same. (If you've read the books, think of Rakhsan, the von Shrakenberg family retainer.) The ones that did come were too few to really be threatening, and they were mostly affiliated with Draka families who felt a bond to them and would be willing to defend them from abuse.
Because I think that kind of thing is a lot less common than Stirling made it in the books, 99.999% of the serf population gave their ex-Masters the finger and left with a smile on their faces. The ones that are left aren't really a significant number.
- To whoever said this was the Proof-verse's equivalent of the Cuban Missile Crisis: exactly right. You get a cookie.
- Do people really want to see Louise's Loons get nuked in '46? I'm not especially inclined to write it, since I don't think it's a very interesting story- mostly fanatical Draka screaming "Glory to the Race!" over and over until they finally get killed off some way or another. But if there's really a lot of interest...
Oh, and regarding Draka refugees: a very few did try to go somewhere else than Madagascar. The U.S. took the ones who asked, although as you might expect there weren't many who wanted to go back to Yankeeland. The Japanese took a few, mostly ones who had technical or scientific skills they thought would be useful. Everyone else told them to take a long walk off a short pier. (Or, given the subject, a long sit on a short stake)
ChaserGrey wrote:Few answers to questions:
- Europe is also an area I haven't filled in much. England is going to be in decent shape. Spain and Portugal didn't get occupied, but they did get a dozen nukes in not a whole lot of space, so they're going to be pretty badly trashed. The best off might actually be France and the small countries to the north such as Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, etc. With the Draka driven out in March of '45 I think they would have been occupied for less than a year, so the Snakes wouldn't have had time to smash everything and enslave everybody yet. Italy fell relatively quickly to the Draka in this TL (it was secure, I think, by the time of the Draka attacking in Marching), so it won't have seen protracted combat, but it also got pretty heavily nuked in Proof. Germany and countries to the east don't really bear thinking about.
All that is just off the top of my head. I don't want to fill in too many details, in case I get an idea for more stories in this TL. Easier to write when you've left yourself some wiggle room.
Eh, no problem. So I was wrong about Spain.
ChaserGrey wrote:- Social conditions in the Archonate: less in the way of Jim Crow or Apartheid than you might think. Here's the way I see it: things like that mostly happen when the minorities in question are big enough that the majority sees them as an economic and social threat. What I didn't really make clear was that very, very, very few serfs actually took the offer of Metic Citizenship- mostly a few very old retainers who had come to think of themselves as part of the family for "their" Draka, and who the Draka thought of pretty much the same. (If you've read the books, think of Rakhsan, the von Shrakenberg family retainer.) The ones that did come were too few to really be threatening, and they were mostly affiliated with Draka families who felt a bond to them and would be willing to defend them from abuse.
Because I think that kind of thing is a lot less common than Stirling made it in the books, 99.999% of the serf population gave their ex-Masters the finger and left with a smile on their faces. The ones that are left aren't really a significant number.
And I was wrong again, apparently. Then again, this makes sense. Those serfs who stayed with their ex-Masters probably wouldn't be out for personal gain or likely to become threats to other Draka jobs-wise; too much indoctrination and limited vocational training. Maybe in a few generations, they would become a more notable minority, but that would be another story.
- To whoever said this was the Proof-verse's equivalent of the Cuban Missile Crisis: exactly right. You get a cookie.
*Cooke Monster mode* COOOKIEEEE!! Om nom nom nom nom nom!!!
- Do people really want to see Louise's Loons get nuked in '46? I'm not especially inclined to write it, since I don't think it's a very interesting story- mostly fanatical Draka screaming "Glory to the Race!" over and over until they finally get killed off some way or another. But if there's really a lot of interest...
Nah, probably not. I'm just a mean, petty individual at times, and I like being smug when creeps like Louise's Loons get fried. Mainly just wanted to know what was passing through her empty little head when the Yankees turned her and the last of her troops to radioactive ash. Otherwise, it's just a curbstomp, and lord knows people don't like one-sided fights very much.
Syria's probably pretty trashed as a result, though. Chem warfare followed by nuclear Holocaust... *shudder*
Okay, back to work now.
Can't wait
EDIT: Read up a bit on Otto Skorzeny and his involvement with Werwolf AKA the legendary German resistance group (which never really materialized in our TL), which got me thinking about the fall of Germany in WW2. Louise's Loons were something like Hitler's infamous Alpine Redoubt, except it actually happened rather than be a hollow boogeyman and total fakeout like Hitler's redoubt was to SHAEF at the end of WW2.
ChaserGrey wrote:- There's less of a psycho-Nationalist movement in the Archonate than you might think. Any die-hard irreconcilables pretty much died where they stood, volunteered to hold rearguards, or joined Louise's little Syrian adventure and were nuked/run over by tanks.
[Pictures Patton being involved in this process]
- Regarding the Soviet rump state: that was me riffing off Marching Through Georgia, mostly. I admit that I haven't really filled in the background for what's happened in Europe and European Russia yet. I think what makes the most sense is for there to be a nominal Russian state, but that its control over the portions of European Russia that were German and Draka occupied will be mostly theoretical.
By now I'd expect practical control, in the sense that the Russian (Red still, in all probability) army garrisons it, can enforce laws, and so on. But the infrastructure and population will have declined to the point where it's hardly more of a source of industrial and military strength than Siberia.
So you'd have a Russia quite similar to the historical one in extent, and with reasonably solid control over its territory, but with little or no ability to defend itself directly against aggressors that have a full modern military and industrial base. One that would wind up being a very large-scale battlefield in the ongoing Alliance-Japanese Cold War, and more a battlefield than a participant.
They'll be working on extending their control, but it's going to be a long time before that's a reality, and even longer before those areas are back on their feet again. Minorities such as Ukranians, Kazakhs, and Armenians are probably trying to make a go of it in their own states since the USSR is pretty much a dead letter. Whether that will stick is anyone's guess.
That may vary depending on how much is left of the relevant minorities after X years of Draka rule- Afghanistan was pretty much entirely depopulated during the twenty year occupation, for instance, and some of the parts of the SSRs were controlled for about that length of time.
Because I think that kind of thing is a lot less common than Stirling made it in the books, 99.999% of the serf population gave their ex-Masters the finger and left with a smile on their faces. The ones that are left aren't really a significant number.
Well, I might knock two or three nines off that figure, but even so it's still an insignificant number: very small compared to the surviving Draka population. And, as you say, a disproportionate number of the Metic citizens were old people who were sincerely unable or unwilling to imagine life without 'their' Citizen family. The long term demographics of the Metic Citizen group would tend towards decline as the loyal old servants die of old age and are not replaced.
- Do people really want to see Louise's Loons get nuked in '46? I'm not especially inclined to write it, since I don't think it's a very interesting story- mostly fanatical Draka screaming "Glory to the Race!" over and over until they finally get killed off some way or another. But if there's really a lot of interest...
Okay, back to work now.
This is a fair point, and (I speculate, not having been one of the participants or even one of the readers at the time) it may be part of what killed the large-scale collaborative "Drakafic" project. Past the point where you know the Draka are going to lose, watching them lose ceases to become interesting, unless you take a lot of vicarious pleasure in watching them lose harder and harder.
Saint_007 wrote:
Eh, no problem. So I was wrong about Spain.
<snip>
And I was wrong again, apparently.
Well...wrong in a very limited sense, perhaps. The stuff you posted was all quite reasonable and got me thinking about how this world works. Just not the direction I wanted things to take. So you were "wrong" only in the sense that you can't read my mind. (And we're probably both happier that way)
ChaserGrey wrote:- To whoever said this was the Proof-verse's equivalent of the Cuban Missile Crisis: exactly right. You get a cookie.
*Cooke Monster mode* COOOKIEEEE!! Om nom nom nom nom nom!!!
Nah, probably not. I'm just a mean, petty individual at times, and I like being smug when creeps like Louise's Loons get fried.
Hey, if somebody wants to write it they can do so with my blessing. I'll even give you my notes/style guide on the verse. Good things should be shared, and nuked Draka is very, very good.
Syria's probably pretty trashed as a result, though. Chem warfare followed by nuclear Holocaust... *shudder*
As Roosevelt said in Proof, the Draka are a cancer. And like any cancer, they had to be excised by chemotherapy and radiation...
(Yes, that was tacky, but I couldn't pass it up.)
Last edited by ChaserGrey on 2011-01-04 07:09pm, edited 3 times in total.
ChaserGrey wrote:- There's less of a psycho-Nationalist movement in the Archonate than you might think. Any die-hard irreconcilables pretty much died where they stood, volunteered to hold rearguards, or joined Louise's little Syrian adventure and were nuked/run over by tanks.
[Pictures Patton being involved in this process]
...That would be Glorious Battle, yes.
So you'd have a Russia quite similar to the historical one in extent, and with reasonably solid control over its territory, but with little or no ability to defend itself directly against aggressors that have a full modern military and industrial base. One that would wind up being a very large-scale battlefield in the ongoing Alliance-Japanese Cold War, and more a battlefield than a participant.
That does make sense. You probably have a nominal Russian state, but down at the village and district level there probably isn't a lot of interaction with the nominal national government. It helps that there really isn't anyone to threaten European Russia militarily, of course. These days the big debate is probably whether it's time to move the capital back to Moscow, or keep it in Vladivostok.
That may vary depending on how much is left of the relevant minorities after X years of Draka rule- Afghanistan was pretty much entirely depopulated during the twenty year occupation, for instance, and some of the parts of the SSRs were controlled for about that length of time.
That's true, but I think it was noted that this was because of fanatical resistance by the Afghans and that it took a lot of effort by the Draka to pacify the area. If there was less resistance in the SSRs they may not have suffered as badly. Fo
]Well, I might knock two or three nines off that figure, but even so it's still an insignificant number: very small compared to the surviving Draka population. And, as you say, a disproportionate number of the Metic citizens were old people who were sincerely unable or unwilling to imagine life without 'their' Citizen family. The long term demographics of the Metic Citizen group would tend towards decline as the loyal old servants die of old age and are not replaced.
Indeed. Especially since there probably will be prejudice about intermarriage between Draka and former serfs. The situation I think of is something mentioned in Under the Yoke- that theoretically, any Citizen can kill any serf without repercussion, but that in practice if you shoot an old family retainer without a damn good reason the owners will challenge you to a duel- and they will shoot to kill. Same protective mechanism here- doesn't apply to most of the serfs in the old Domination, of course, but the Metics were very much a self-selecting group.
This is a fair point, and (I speculate, not having been one of the participants or even one of the readers at the time) it may be part of what killed the large-scale collaborative "Drakafic" project. Past the point where you know the Draka are going to lose, watching them lose ceases to become interesting, unless you take a lot of vicarious pleasure in watching them lose harder and harder.
At a certain point, yes, it's just repetitive.
Yeah, and I can't say I enjoy writing about mass slaughter either. That said, if somebody wants to take up the torch (or for that matter play elsewhere in the Proof-verse) that'd be cool. I do have some notes and a sorta-style guide that I'd be happy to share.
(Not that you *need* permission to write a fanfic of a fanfic, of course, but I'm just saying.)
ChaserGrey wrote:(Not that you *need* permission to write a fanfic of a fanfic, of course, but I'm just saying.)
But it is definitely good manners and more polite that way. *glares at hypothetical people*
How much of the surviving population was the all-important "people of breeding age" demographic? Since they were disproportionately soldiers or in war industries, I wonder if they also took a disproportionate hit so a lot of the remaining population was elders and children.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
Mayabird wrote:How much of the surviving population was the all-important "people of breeding age" demographic? Since they were disproportionately soldiers or in war industries, I wonder if they also took a disproportionate hit so a lot of the remaining population was elders and children.
That's a good question. I've been assuming about a two thirds, same as the prewar population. On one hand, Draka of breeding age were almost all in the armed forces, and furthest from safety when the excretory substance struck the ventilation mechanism. On the other, just being in the Police Zone didn't mean you were safe, and the cities that got hit would have been disproportionately the young and the old since everyone else was in the army. I've been assuming that those factors more or less canceled each other out.
So figure there were roughly 24-25 million Draka left by the time the dust settled, of which slightly more than 16 million were able to work and breed. Small population for a nation, but OTOH the Draka TL tends to be less populated in general.
I'd have thought that with the population being predominantly rural, living spaced out on the plantations, that the young and old would be more spread out and less susceptible to being killed off by city destruction. Granted, without a support structure the elderly and young would then be cut off and quite vulnerable to food disruptions, serf rebellions, and so forth. I guess that could balance out things as well.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
Not every Draka is a full-up aristocrat with a plantation and a small army of serfs - We were speculating about high-class apartment blocks for lower-class urban-dwelling Draka, who have only one serf-maid for the entire floor...
"The 4th Earl of Hereford led the fight on the bridge, but he and his men were caught in the arrow fire. Then one of de Harclay's pikemen, concealed beneath the bridge, thrust upwards between the planks and skewered the Earl of Hereford through the anus, twisting the head of the iron pike into his intestines. His dying screams turned the advance into a panic."'
It's tough to say about things like that, because the only Draka we see are the plantation-dwelling rural population. I took a look at the 1947 world statistics digest from the UN (can't remember the exact name of the report), which had urbanization statistics along with everything else. Counting out countries like Germany, which back then was still rebuilding its cities, the lowest percentage of urban population in what could be called an industrialized country then was around 30%. I took that as a rough floor and assumed the Domination had roughly a third of its population in urban areas.
But- even if that's how it is normally, mobilization for the war is going to skew the population further towards urban areas, given how the Draka have handled their industrialization. Most Citizens are going to be in the army, cutting down the percentage in rural areas, and the ones that are left will be doing war work. The Draka follow the Big Combine model of industry, meaning that factories are going to be Real Big and almost certainly located near cities, since it's easier to support all the workers that way. The Draka that are left will be acting as overseers, designers, and engineers for those factories, which means more Draka than normal were probably in the cities when they were hit.
I got about that far in thinking about this. Then I started repeating to myself, it's just a fanfic, I should really just relax...
(And start writing again before the torches and pitchforks start coming out. I know, I know.)
ChaserGrey wrote:I
I got about that far in thinking about this. Then I started repeating to myself, it's just a fanfic, I should really just relax...
(And start writing again before the torches and pitchforks start coming out. I know, I know.)
Thinking far about things is what makes the difference between good, researched, coherent fics and poor crappy clichéd ones.
And get to work, the first parts thoroughly excited my interest
That does make sense, so thank you. My knowledge of the Draka is taken entirely from fanfics so my actual understanding of them is somewhat limited and involves them getting blowed up way more often than in canon.
Did anyone ever tell you how S. M. Stirling himself commented on some Draka fics back in the day?
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
He had a comment about fanfics? Didn't he already out and said that the canon Domination timeline was one where what could go wrong, did go wrong, and in the worst way possible (admittedly with a sizable helping of Author's Fiat)? He even said in the foreword to Drakas! that anyone who actually assumed he supported the Domination was just being an idiot?
Then again, this is the same guy who said (when talking about the Domination in WH40K) "I hope the Imperium has more worlds than the Domination has Draka". That is, assuming every last Homo Drakensis will take Ingolffsson's route and try to corrupt the Imperium from within rather than fight the Imperial Guard and Space Marines head-on.
EDIT: Basically, my point is, I didn't think he'd mind much. Though out of curiosity, what did he say about Draka-killing fics?
“Damnation to Eternal Darkness.” Centurion Pietr Ellis stared across the polished rosewood desk at the ruler of the State, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Excellence, this all confirmed?”
“Better believe.” Eric stared across the table at Ellis, his blue eyes absolutely flat. “Bohner’s gone serious sideways on it, looks like, and he’s either goin’ pull of whatever he’s planning or get us all killed. Good news is, the Yankees are givin’ us a chance to solve the problem ourselves before they turn us into a giant glass mirror. Bad news is, we don’t know how much gas he’s got or where it is. We figure that out, maybe we can do somethin’ about this.”
He leaned forward, heads on the desk in front of him. “Centurion, when I called yo’ in here I imagine yo’ thought it was to thank you for savin’ my niece. For which I am grateful, and I’m sorry I haven’t gotten the chance to say so before. But now I’m askin’ mo’ of you. Askin’ yo’ to be my eyes.”
“Excellence, I don’t understand.” Ellis leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment in shock. “Why me?” Eric grinned humorlessly.
“Because I can’t trust those I can send, and I can’t send anyone I can trust. Anyone high up in the Forces is too easy to watch, and do any Archonal Guard troops get spotted down there Bohner will know the game’s up. Anyone else could be one of Bohner’s. I’m bettin’ that if you are, yo’ wouldn’t have saved Yolande. As much of a hellion as she can be, she’d have been even more of a distraction dead.” The Archon shrugged, and dropped back into his chair with a sigh. “And as flimsy a rationale as that is to bet my nation’s future on…I got nothin’ else.”
Ellis whistled. “Hell of a gamble, Excellence. That all you’re going to go on?”
“No. We goin’ to do a little field test.” Eric stood in one fluid motion and opened his desk drawer, dropping a 10mm Tolgren automatic on the desk surface. Ellis started, but before he could say anything Eric paced to the other side of the office, a good ten yards. Too far for him to possibly beat the younger man to the pistol, but close enough that it would be almost impossible for him to miss. “Centurion, if I’m wrong, I’d rather die nice and clean at the start. Mo’ pleasant for me, and who knows? With me out of the way, y’all might be able to pull off whatever it is fast enough not to get us all killed. So if yo’ one of Bohner’s…I’ll give yo’ until thirty.”
Eric turned and faced the wall, letting his eyes run over the books ranked there. Volumes of law and statistics, military history, and a few battered, loved volumes from his childhood that had somehow been elsewhere when his family’s plantation burned. His Young Draka’s Illustrated Odyssey called up memories of reading to Tyansha by gaslight under an apple tree, fourteen years old. The stars had been so bright…
A movement behind him, and Eric forced himself not to turn. Then a muffled sound, and a weight at his hip as deft hands unsnapped the flap of his belt holster and slid the pistol back in. Eric let out a breath and turned, to see Ellis standing just a few inches a way, grinning crookedly.
“Sorry to disappoint yo’, Excellence.” A beat. “I will need some kind of travel orders, just in case…”
“Here.” Eric reached into his shirt pocket with steady hands and drew out two sheets of paper, passing them to the younger man. The first took Century D of the First Reaction Cohort out of line and assigned them to special R&R at Camp Howe, near Regentropfen Airport on the outskirts of Archona Nova. The second was an all-Forces message from His Excellence the Archon, informing them that Centurion Pietr Ellis was on a special mission for the Archon’s Office, and was not to be interfered with by any subordinate officers or officials. “Don’t have to tell you to be careful using that last one, but it should get yo’ past the paper pushers. Goin’ to take your Century?”
Ellis shook his head. “Fewer the better, I think. We’ll just go in and have a look-see at what Mister Bohner is up to.”
“Good. Service to the state, Centurion. Good luck.”
Ellis saluted neatly. “Survival to the Race, Excellence.” At Eric’s look, he grinned wider. “Glory seems a bit of a long shot right now, considerin’.”
Eric laughed at that. Loyal, good instincts, and a sense of humor. He’d make sure this one went far, assuming he was in a position to say anything about anyone’s future after about the next 48 hours or so. “Get gone, youngster. Don’t let me down.”
1430 Hours
Flag Bridge, USS Reprisal
“God, this had to be next.” Admiral Herbert Wallis looked down at the map table and the photo transparencies spread out on it, then up at his senior officers and Director Ruiz, who had decided to stay aboard ship when the new crisis began to bloom. The photos they were all looking at had been taken by an Air Force reconnaissance jet less than six hours before, then photostatted from Venta Bellagrium to the ship. They showed Zanzibar Harbor crowded with hundreds of small craft, all of them bristling with small-caliber weapons and taking on fuel and ammunition at the wharves. “This is the biggest push we’ve ever seen them do, and if any of them get ashore- well, Bohner couldn’t ask for a better excuse to kick off his plan. Whatever it is. Wonderful sense of timing the Zanzies have.”
“If that’s all it is.” Captain Julius Rosemont was a squadron commander, and normally wouldn’t have rated a place at such an exalted gathering- but he was also the Navy’s recognized expert on Snakes and how to bomb them, which made him one of the command group for the forseeable future. “The Quarantine people shoreside know about the missiles, which means that it could have leaked to the Zanzies.” He held up a hand at the Director’s angry glare. “No offense intended, ma’am. But if your organization doesn’t have any leaks in it…well, it’ll be the very first in human history. I know I’d make sure to have some moles in it, if I were the Zanzies.”
“True.” Ruiz still looked like she’d swallowed something sour. “But why they’re choosing to do this now is beside the immediate point. The question is, what do we do about it? We have to stop those boats.” She looked down at the harbor again. “Admiral, I need to go ashore as soon as possible. I’ll go to Zanzibar personally and appeal to the Sultan.”
“Do you expect that to work?” Wallis’ tone made it abundantly clear what he thought of that. Director Ruiz shrugged.
“It may. In any case, I can think of nothing else that can be accomplished by diplomatic means. The Sultan may listen to me. He may be able to stop some of the boats from leaving harbor. And the horse may learn to sing. Everything else, Admiral, will have to be in your hands.” Wallis nodded shortly.
“Understood, ma’am. Any instructions?”
“Only this.” Ruiz held out her hand, and an aide passed her a sheet of paper. She scanned it once, then laid it down on the plot table and signed it with one of the cheap Navy-issue pens that lay strewn across it. “Effective immediately, I am extending the Exclusion Zone to the full hundred and fifty nautical miles off the coast of Madagascar. You are authorized to fire upon and sink any vessel still in the zone, starting eighteen hours from now.” At the stunned expressions around her, she smiled grimly. “The Treaty gives me the authority to vary the zones around Madagascar as needed to adapt to circumstances. I admit that this isn’t the moving shoals or rich schools of fish that the drafters imagined, but the authority is there. After this is all over…I suppose I’m not too old to turn sugar planter.”
“Uh, yes ma’am.” Admiral Wallis recovered his aplomb. “We’ll start shifting forces to the northwest sector immediately. Reprisal can provide air cover.” Wallis paused to take a breath, but before he could speak again Rosemont broke in.
“Excuse me, Sir.” Wallis looked up with a glare, but he pressed on. “I have to think there’s something we’re not seeing here. Look, from what von Shrakenberg is telling us Bohner has to be getting help from the outside, right? Fine, but even with some help a few ballistic missiles don’t really change anything about the basic situation. If they pop off so much as a bottle rocket without our okay, Reprisal can turn Madagascar into a parking lot with one hand tied behind her back.”
“You have a point, Captain?”
“Yessir. I think this looks like a setup. Bohner’s plan doesn’t add up, and as for the Zanzies…let’s just say I don’t believe in coincidences. There’s something here that we’re not seeing.”
“Allright, Rosemont. Let’s say you’re right. What do you think we should do about it.” Wallis folded his arms across his chest. “We can’t ignore the Zanzies’ fleet.”
“Not saying we should, sir. But look at our dispositions.” Rosemont bent over the chart with a grease pencil, drawing arrows to shift escort groups around the island. “Normally, we’d do something like this, right? But it leaves the southeast part of Madagascar almost totally uncovered, the part near Trismestigus Province. Be a good time to try to sneak something in.”
“Mmmm.” Wallis bent over the chart and stared at it. “We could leave a few escorts…”
“That’s not going to cut it, Sir. The only single asset that can cover all that territory is a platform that can do its own airborne searches.”
“You’re talking about Reprisal.” The Admiral looked over at Rosemont, his eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not, Captain. We’re going to need her too badly down here.”
“Excuse me, Sir?” Reprisal’s Captain spoke up from the other side of the circle, where he’d watched in silence until now. “We could shift about midway up the island instead. Our Argus planes could still cover the gap and talk escorts in to any intruders, and we’d still be able to give decent support to the rest of the Fleet.” Wallis stared at him for another long moment, then nodded.
“All right. Make it so, Captain. CAG, rustle up a COD plane to take the Director to Zanzibar soonest. Dismissed, ladies and gentlemen.” As the meeting broke up, Rosemont walked over to Reprisal’s Captain.
“Thanks for the assist there, Jaime.”
Jaime Guitierrez made a small gesture. “Everything I said was the truth, Rosie. I’m not sure I see the same threat you do. But I’ve trusted your judgment ever since you convinced me to launch that last strike at Genoa back in ’45.” He grinned, and clapped the other veteran on the shoulder. “Just make sure you’re right, yes? If I lose another Reprisal it’s going to look damned awkward on my service record.”
Rosemont grinned back, and sketched a salute. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure I’m right, then.”
Pietr Ellis belly-crawled forward through the thick jungle, moving with almost painful slowness as he scanned the jungle for any sign of sentries. Behind him he could feel more than hear Jenny White crawling along, moving even slower as she watched their rear and carefully dragged undergrowth to conceal their tracks. He’d taken her and a steam-powered utility vehicle from the Century and made his way down to Trismestigus Province on the national road system, passing through the few military checkpoints they’d come across without a problem.
They’d driven around the perimeter of the area Bohner had staked out for his missiles as much as they’d dared, then had a long, agonizing wait until darkness fell and they could start their sneak. The installation seemed to be centered around a wide, broad valley in the middle of what was officially a military exercise area. The only road suitable for vehicles ran through the floor of the valley and was blocked at both ends- officially by routine checkpoints, but Ellis hadn’t for a moment considered trying to bluff past them with the Archon’s letter. There seemed to be a cordon drawn around the rest of the area as well, but it was fairly loose- so far Bohner seemed to be trusting in secrecy as his best security, and it would have taken at least a full Chilliarchy to do a proper job of sealing the area. They’d left the jeep at a turnoff on a general access road as twilight fell, and had spent the two and a half hours since worming their way the five or so kilometers from the road to the ridge overlooking the valley.
As Ellis crawled forward, he could see a gap in the trees and the ground dropping off on the other side. Time. He slid forward to the edge of the trees and shrugged his knapsack off of his shoulders, taking out a long oblong shape and laying it down on the ground. Jenny slid up next to him, slapping his ankle twice in the all-clear signal. There’d probably be a roving patrol at the treeline- he’d have placed one, if he were running this place- but they weren’t nearby now, and with the Great Nothing on their side they’d be done and gone before it showed its face. Now he leaned over to Jenny and breathed out,
“Tripod.” Jenny slid the short metal assembly from her pack and passed it to him. As he unfolded the tripod and mounted the snooperscope on it, she shrugged out a shoebox-sized battery pack and cabled it to the main body. Ellis switched it on, gave it a minute to warm up while he strapped on a small microphone, then peered through the eyepieces.
The bright green image of the valley below still startled him- the new low-light snoopers were still very new gear, and the nature of reaction duty meant there was seldom time or need to deploy them. Carefully he panned the binoculars over the valley, taking the time to drink it in and see everything that passed in front of his eyes. Don’t think about the patrol that was surely coming, somewhere. Don’t rush. Just get the job done right the first time and make sure everything got recorded, trust in the Nothing for the rest.
“Backstop positions behind the main roadblocks.” Sandbagged installations with camo nets over them with recoilless rifles and machine gun nests, a nasty surprise for anyone who didn’t know they were there. “Missile launcher trucks, lots of ‘em. Some kind of big tank, got missile trucks near it and…yeah, hoses goin’ into the body. Figure that’s they fuel. Barracks, looks like, and- hello.” In the center of the camp was a large building, of heavier construction than the rest and with the boxy silhouette of an industrial-grade air scrubber on the roof. Guards stood around it, and a roving patrol with Holbars at the ready swept through the pile of 55-gallon drums in a fenced-off area behind the building. As Ellis watched, a group of men came out of the building dressed in heavy rubber chemical suits, waiting until the door had closed behind them before they started peeling them off. He looked up from the scope and grinned, a shark’s mouth expression.
“Gotcha.” He whispered a description into the mic, sighting in on a few landmarks to make sure he could find the building from an overhead picture, then carefully finished his sweep of the compound. It was hard, with elation and adrenaline surging through his veins, but he couldn’t assume that there was only one gas dump until he’d made absolutely certain. The consequences of missing even a little bit didn’t bear thinking about.
As he finished sweeping the valley again, Ellis saw the figures that had come out of the gas building still standing around, apparently deep in conversation. He smiled again to himself.
Hope yo’ having a real nice talk, you bastards. Yo’ don’t have much time left for it.
Stonewall Jackson Bohner pulled his gas mask off and reached over, thumping Dr. Nesmith on the back as the other Draka worked on getting out of his rubber suit. Nesmith was also grinning ear to hear, and even Major Ito’s face was triumphant. Bohner’s voice was jubilant.
“Excellent work, Dr. Nesmith. I know the risks yo’ took acceleratin’ this work, but it seems to have paid off fo’ all of us. What you’ve done will never be forgotten by the Race.” Nesmith ducked his head and grinned, but Bohner meant every word of it. The original plan had allotted a full five days to the vital experiments needed to confirm that their last batch of D7 gas- the stuff the Yankees called VX- had been correctly synthesized and would perform as advertised once dispersed. Just killing was only a small part of that- the gas had to be stable enough for loading the delivery, but able to disperse as calculated. And even if the gas could kill, a comparatively small reduction in lethality would greatly reduce the impact of their threat. By cutting some experiments out and cleverly redesigning others, Nesmith and his assistants had managed to compact five days of work into the just over thirty hours since the Yankee overflight. The gas was everything they’d hoped for, and now everything was ready.
Well, nearly everything. Bohner turned to Colonel Ito, who had just finished taking off his own suit. “Colonel, any update on the external situation? You people promised that your parts of the puzzle would be in place well before our part was ready.” He spread his hands. “Well, we’re ready…and it seems our ship has yet to come in.”
Ito smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I am sorry, Merarch Bohner, but unfortunately not all parts of the plan can be made ready with as much efficiency and haste as Doctor Nesmith has shown. I am reliably informed that the Akita Maru is less than ninety miles outside the quarantine zone and may be expected to dock within twenty-four hours.”
“Which is goin’ to be too late.” Bohner fixed the smaller man with a stare. “Little bird told me that the bushmen over in Zanzibar been gettin’ a hellacious big fleet together, getting’ ready to saturate the Yankee blockade and go on a big ol’ cuttin’ party. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would yo’?”
Ito smiled uncomfortably. “It may be that the reaction we engendered has been more vigorous than hoped, but these matters must be weighed, Merarch Bohner. Unless the blockade force is sufficiently distracted, we have no hope of getting the Akita Maru through successfully. We can scarcely stop for a customs inspection in Venta Bellagrium as the treaty requires, and even at her full speed she will take nearly seven hours to transit the quarantine zone-“
“And the ones that pay for your little deception are the Draka. Nice.”
“Merarch, surely that is none of your concern. You will achieve your desires.”
“Wrong.” Bohner jabbed his finger into the smaller man’s chest. “It is precisely my concern. Yo’ think all I want is to rule the State? Shitfire, did I want that I could wait for that old fart in Nova Archona to keel over and run for the office myself. I’m doin’, this, Colonel, because the Draka are in a blind corner and there’s no other way out. Because our Race, our people, are dying every time the bushmen come over and they will wipe us out if we don’t do something about it. And now yo’ want me to stand by and let all those bushmen through? No, sir.” Ito looked confused.
“But without the troops on the Akita Maru…”
“To Hades with ‘em. We’ll need them, but not until the time comes to actually storm the capital. We’re doing this now, before that fleet leaves harbor…and the first thing we do is tell the bushmen that if so much as one boat sails, their whole damn ant’s nest is gettin’ sprayed.”
Ito’s eyes were wide with horror. “Merarch, you can’t-“ Bohner laughed.
“Can’t what? Remember the aide I gave the nod to when we came out? Colonel, the go signal was sent to all our men ten minutes ago.” He leaned forward, relishing the look of horror on the other man’s face. “So yo’ best see to it that yo’ come through on your promises. Hey?”
2330 Hours
5 km from Ragnarok Project Primary Site, Madagascar
Ellis trotted out of the jungle fringe, White on his heels. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he saw that the steam jeep was still there, right where they’d left it. Now to call in. He motioned Jenny to the driver’s side and slid into the passenger’s console, flipping the jeep’s radio set on. By the time they were rolling he’d dialed in the frequency and code settings the Archon had given him and started his call.
“This is Flashfire Actual calling Fist Actual.” A long silence, and Ellis was about to repeat the call when the radio crackled. Sounded like the old man himself, not a functionary.
“Fist here, Flashfire. What do you have?” Ellis grinned, though he knew Jenny was the only one who could see it.
“Got the location of Bohner’s depot, Fist. Locked down, certain as I can be without goin’ down and knockin’ on the door myself.”
“Good.” The Archon’s voice was flat, and suddenly Ellis heard a long, stuttering crash in the background. He started forward- that sounded like gunfire. “Now listen. Situation’s changed. An hour ago Bohner got on the radio and proclaimed himself Archon, told the Zanzies that if they don’t stop they little invasion fleet he’s going to hit them with a blow that will rival all the hurts we Draka have suffered in twenty infamous years, unquote.” Another pause, then another stuttering rip of what was definitely gunfire. “Why he thinks he’ll get away with it I have no idea, but as it stands yo’ the only one who knows where his arsenal is well enough that the Yankees can get rid of it without nukes. Which they will do, if there’s no other alternative.” Ellis closed his eyes. The Draka nightmare- a full-on attack that would doom the Race.
“So now what, Sir?”
“We’re pinned down in the Residence. Archonal Guard’s mostly on our side, thank Freya, and we’re gettin’ odds and sods from most of the troops in the Capital area, but Bohner’s people have us pinned down. I want yo’ to get to Regentropfen, any way yo’ can, and link up with the Yankees there. Tell ‘em what yo’ know. Make ‘em listen. And try to work out some way for them to stop Bohner without killing us all.” Ellis stared at the handset, appalled. “That a good copy, Centurion?”
And there was nothing to say but, “Good copy, Excellence. Out.” The connection went dead, and for a minute Centurion Ellis just stared at the handset. As they pulled out onto a main road and Jenny hit the gas he shook his head quietly.
“Jenny, I have got to learn to stop volunteering for this kind of shit.”
...Suddenly the Zanzie raids make a WHOLE lot more sense.
Goddammit, Ito! At least the Russians put the missiles in Cuba *AFTER* the Bay of Pigs, and they didn't double-cross their Cuban allies in the process. What, you thought the Draka were going to take your little games lying down? Or that they'd be too thick to realize it? Though I'm guessing Boner (hehehehe, 'Boner') probably knew all along, or was in on it from the start. Either way, Ito better pray the whole thing blows over with the Yanks realizing the Japanese were behind this clusterfuck. I know I'd be downright pissed in their shoes.
The real mistake Ito, Tsuji et al are making is a classic political one: having instigated a crisis (by helping Bohner and trying to use the Zanzibarans as stalking horses) to get what they wanted, they assumed they would be able to keep the situation under control. What's happening now is that the crisis is starting to escape control, as the Zanzies react much more vigorously than expected and become a threat Bohner is no longer willing to accept or ignore.
As Fred Thompson's character said in The Hunt for Red October: "This business will get out of hand. It will get out of hand and we'll all be lucky to live through it!"
Well, either way, the human waste material is going to collide with the rotating cooling appliance. The best the Japanese can hope for is the sort of detente that the Americans and Russians had right after the Cuban Missile Crisis. Cause All-Seeing Odin knows I'd be screaming for some sort of condemnation of Japanese imperialism if it ever got found out. Several African countries were put in the line of fire (nerve toxin, to boot), many Draka were slaughtered by raids instigated by the Japanese (which would be the hardest part to prove), and American forces in the region recklessly endangered.
You ask me, the Japanese better put their dreams for the Indian Ocean on hold. Unless they want to start WW3 in the 60's.
Interestingly this may be the first Draka fic I've ever read that has sympathetic Draka characters in it. Great work, looking forward to seeing more!
Not to get into a "No True Scotsman" discussion, but it's debateable whether they are Draka any more. It's questionable whether Schrakenberg ever really was. In this setting, pretty much all the "True Draka" got themselves killed trying to forestall the inevitable. Reminds me of the Man-Kzin wars somehow.
"Only a fool expects rational behaviour from their fellow humans. Why do you expect it from a machine that humans have designed?"
Diverball wrote:
Not to get into a "No True Scotsman" discussion, but it's debateable whether they are Draka any more. It's questionable whether Schrakenberg ever really was. In this setting, pretty much all the "True Draka" got themselves killed trying to forestall the inevitable.
Like so many things, that depends on who you ask. Louise Gayner would probably say that all the "True Draka" are dead. (Edit: Or she would, if she wasn't a very small stain on the bottom of George Patton's tank treads) Merarch Bohner would say he's leading the last of the true Draka. Eric von Shrakenberg would say that he and his people are the Draka, the same way that, say, people in Philadelphia from 1776, 1865, and 1964 are all Americans. They're certainly not the same totalitarian slavemasters we all know and loathe.
Me, I'm not going to say anything until the fic's done. Let people judge for themselves.
Reminds me of the Man-Kzin wars somehow.
Actually, that's one of the things I was thinking of when I wrote this.
I'm pretty sure Gayner's Goons (AKA Louise's Loons) were the last "True Draka". Meaning the merciless, Spartan Way slave-owners who believe that the Draka has to "rule or die".
You know, this reminds me of a comment on an online article. There's always these groups/nations that either rule the world or go extinct, nothing in between. The Mongols got the former, but nearly everybody else got flattened or erased.
Anyways, speaking of the Middle Eastern conflict, AKA the final stages of the Eurasian War, I have a few ideas floating in that mess of neurons I call a brain, and I'm wondering if anyone's interested in doing a fanfic for that conflict.
Well, you can definitely have my blessing and notes if you want. Heck, at this point we've got so many derogatory nicknames for the holdouts it'd be a shame not to use them.
