Norseman wrote:Towards the end of the third book "The Stone Dogs" where the Draka conquer the earth to a great degree due to a radio triggered virus (no really),
The AfD was full of fucking shit! They had every fucking technological
advantage, and had a virus that crippled the Draka's computers, why
the fuck didn't they accept the losses from the Radio Virus and keep
volley firing ICBMs and nukes into the Police Zone?
Oh, sure, the Draka are spread out all over half the world now, but their
HEART and SOUL (if you could call it) is in africa. Burn Africa to an ashpile,
and you defeat them
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong
"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944
As I was mentioning elsewhere, the counter to the draka's annoying we are the sleak hunting cats eugenic supermen, is that since they are still human, there are a number of very harsh enviornments where mother nature ought to have created enough "Wolves" (Mongolia, Siberia, parts of the Americas, etc) to counter the Draka's "Leopards" quite nicely.
The scariest folk song lyrics are "My Boy Grew up to be just like me" from cats in the cradle by Harry Chapin
VLADIMIR WEST RUSSIAN PATRIATION CENTRE
VLADIMIR OBLAST
RUSSIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
WEDNESDAY 20 APRIL 1938
Dzhambalov looked out the window at the departing Stanley Steamer, he nodded as he saw it pass through the gates, a big smile spread across his face, strong white teeth appearing in his big bushy beard. He rest his hands on his hips "Excellent," he said in a cheerful voice as he turned around "It did not seem rehearsed at all, even the little admission towards the end."
"Thank you Comrade General," Calista replied, a bit smile on her face too, and with the suns rays hitting her just so the air around her air seemed to light up, and it was as if she had a halo. She modestly straightened her jacket a bit, then she looked after the car and added "He was a nice man."
"Yes, Republican, but in propaganda, in propaganda," Dzhambalov gently moved his hand out and brushed her cheek poor child, they shouldn't send you out yet, not for many, many months "The messenger is as important as the message," he noticed that she blushed a bit from the touch, but smiled happily even so poor, poor child, if only I were more than an old relic from a lost age, I might protect you yet "Move along now, I am sure you have things to do," he said with a fatherly smile, "I think Nadia needed some help with her penmanship."
"Thank you Comrade General," Calista said, seeming even happier now, then suddenly she moved forward and kissed his cheeks, very innocently. "I'll go help her now," she said cheerfully before adding "Do svidaniya Tavaritsj General" and walking quickly towards her quarters.
If only I were thirty years younger he thought sadly as he watched her disappear, then he turned himself and walked down the hallway away from the windows towards the office again. His footsteps echoing through the empty barren hallway, unlike the fancy hallways that the American had seen this one was not carpeted, nor did it have panelled walls, no it was like most hallways in the Soviet Union painted concrete with propaganda posters seemingly plastered up every ten feet or so.
After once more reaching the reception room to his office he turned to his secretary "Marya Yakimova, two notes,"
"Yes Comrade General", his secretary said as she pulled out a dictation pad from somewhere in the enormous pile of paper that adorned her big wooden desk. She placed the pen to the paper and gave the General an expectant look.
"Regarding Calista Simonova, first a note that her Russian is improving, and her comradely attitude to her fellow escapees remains constant, but make a note..." he sighed a bit "Ensure that her training in propriety and normal etiquette is stepped up."
The secretary quickly took down the notes, then looked back up at him.
"Second the Orthodox escapees, and their attending services in Vladimir," he continued "Everything according to plan, the American will certainly be coming now."
"Yes Comrade General, everything will be done according to plan," the secretary replied in her usual dry slightly nasal tone.
General Dzambalov turned to leave, but just as he reached the door to his office he turned around, wagged his finger a bit and said "One more thing, very minor."
Marya looked up, an eyebrow rising slightly "Yes Comrade General?"
"We are doing another anti-exploitation drive, order the necessary posters, call headquarters and ask what the latest slogans are," he said before turning back to the door and entering his office.
"Yes Comrade General," Marya said to the closing door cute, but old, still nice catch she half smiled to herself as she began typing up the necessary documentation on her aging Cyrillic style typewriter, the sound of her fingers dancing across the keyboard was accompanied by the merry clicking of the keys striking the thin typewriter paper.
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CITY OF VLADIMIR
VLADIMIR OBLAST
RUSSIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
WEDNESDAY 20 APRIL 1938
It was a nice little café, or bistro, in Vladimir. The smell of freshly baked pastries filled the air, along with whiffs of strong green tea, and strange smells of fat dishes rich with dairy products. The windows appeared slightly dirty, that grey film that seems to cover all windows in a city unless they are regularly cleaned, a mix of dust and dried rainwater. Yet inside it was cheerful enough, big oblong tables, plain uncovered wood but the tables were at least reasonably clean and not overly defaced. The chairs were also plain dark wood, reasonably soft wicker models making them easy enough to sit in, and surprisingly solid too.
Myers wasn't quite sure what he was eating, it was dark and it smelled good, and there was a taste of meat and thick cream to it, but it was quite good. So too was the dark green tea sweetened by honey, though quite frankly he was a bit sceptical to the hygiene of the place. Smith, his photographer, seemed to think much the same, even if he almost had to be physically restrained from taking pictures. Then of course there was Lt Lapshov, their communist watchdog from the MGB, Myers belatedly noticed that he was not the only foreigner in the bistro, nor was Lapshov the only MGB man I wonder if they take all their journalists here he smiled at the thought probably.
"Vladimir really has a lot to recommend it," Lapshov commented, "Especially now that Easter is near."
"Yes I suppose so," Myers commented absentmindedly as he looked out the window, through the grey film and onto the surprisingly animated street what do I do now.
"Of course in the Soviet Union such things are mainly for the uneducated and the elderly, but it is a great spectacle for the whole people, and of course there are many Orthodox Christians among the escapees at the Repatriation Centre," Lapshov added, sounding a bit like an intourist guide.
"Yes well, I must admit that with my last name the idea of spending Orthodox Easter in Russia doesn't," Myers suddenly stopped wait a minute.
"Doesn't? Mr Myers?" Lapshov asked.
"Wrong century..." Myers said, then he sipped deep from his tea, and asked seemingly casually "Would all of the Orthodox Christians from the Patriation Centre come here?"
"Of course, unless they were too sick," Lapshov replied "After all it is the most important feast of the Christian faith." Suddenly his eyes widened a bit "Now wait, you're not supposed to meet her before the arrangements have been made, and it won't be more than a couple of weeks!"
"A couple of weeks?" Myers asked sceptically.
"A month at most" Lapshov assured them, "I mean it's much better to do things through official channels."
"I hear that the Orthodox service is very visually appealing," Myers replied, and nodding towards Smith he added "I'm sure smith here would like to get some good shots."
"Sure would" Smith chimed in, smiling and winding one of his cameras.
"Ah yes, it is very lovely," Lapshov commented, sounding a bit insecure "And you are of course welcome, but the Moscow services are much..."
"Done, everyone photographs the service in Moscow," Smith said "Vladimir is something new, and though I'd love to get some shots of Calista in the church, we needn't bother her or anything."
God bless you John Smith, you're the best wingman I could hope for Myers thought, as he too piled up before Lapshov could reply "Will the general be there?"
"No I don't think so, he will probably be very busy, organisation for feasts is very time requiring," Lapshov admitted weakly, he looked from Smith to Myers seeming quite sceptical about where this was going.
"Well then, he won't be around and won't mind if we get some photo's, and you yourself said this was a lovely town," Myers said triumphantly oh yes the Russians, either at your throat or at your feet "And don't forget you were told to take special good care of me, right?"
"Yes," Lapshov said "I suppose you taking some photo's won't hurt."
"Of course not, could we get a hotel room here by the way?" Myers asked eagerly and you won't notice if I have a few words with her, and if she suddenly decides to talk to me, where's the harm? He dismissed the thoughts of the general, and instead thought of his Pulitser and I won't push her hard or anything, just need to get a few shots and some words in the right setting.
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A HOTEL ROOM
SOMEWHERE IN VLADIMIR
WEDNESDAY 20 APRIL 1938
"Yes Comrade, it worked perfectly according to plan."
"They don't suspect anything Comrade?"
"No Comrade, indeed they think it was their idea, and that they dragged my reluctant backside into their scheme."
"Yes, these Americans, so easily manipulated... be sure to keep an eye on things, and ensure nothing happens."
"Yes Comrade General," Lapshov said, then there was a click and a soft humming from the phone right he hung up the phone and looked around the room, it was surprisingly nice, even had a bathroom attached, not very big but a nice bed, and a radio ah yes, luxury he threw himself up and landed on the bed on his back, feeling the metal springs buoy him up and down as he spread his arms oh yes, everything going according to plan. How astonishing that the Americans can build so much, and do so much, yet not recognise the most obvious rouse and trick.
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USPENSKYI CATHEDRAL
CITY OF VLADIMIR
VLADIMIR OBLAST
RUSSIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
FRIDAY 22 APRIL 1938 - OLD CALENDRIST GOOD FRIDAY
Myers looked around, the local kremlin was on top of a hill, like these things usually were. A Kremlin is really the name of the heavily fortified core in the centre of any old Russian city, and the Moscow kremlin was simply the most famous, or rather it was the Kremlin, as opposed to A kremlin. All of this he had gleaned from the guide books, and from Lapshov who was surprisingly friendly.
It was quite a pretty place though, the Klyasma river flowing gently below, as they had approached the Kremlin they had crossed a bridge over the same river, and seen the magnificent golden domes and round arches of the Uspenskyi Cathedral rising up high above, the lower half concealed by the forest covering the bluff. Smith had flashed of a few photo's there, it was a very beautiful scene, indeed the city of Vladimir was very picturesque, small narrow streets filled with lovely sights, and surrounded by rolling hills whose slopes were covered with vast cherry orchards.
"There is no place as beautiful as Vladimir when the cherry trees blossom," Lapshov had said wistfully "The smell, so strong that you can almost taste it, when you breathe through your mouth you still feel it, and when the blossoms fall the ground is covered in a carpet, a pink carpet floating in the wind like a sheet of the finest silk."
Then they had ascended into the Kremlin, past the Golden Gate, one of the most unusual sights Myers had seen. It was like an Triumphal Arch that had been built through a church, the massive white building had a big triumphal arch through it, flanked by what appeared to be bastions of sorts, and then surmounted by an actual church with a onion shaped dome. Very unusual, and of course endowed with the kind of history that everything else here had, ancient, ancient, ancient, something is young here if it's only had a bicentennial...
Then there was the Uspenskiy Cathedral, the Cathedral of the Dormition, it was an unusually beautiful sight. In front there was a beautiful free standing belfry, a white square tower, with a turret tower in each corner, and with a magnificent golden spire pointing towards the sky. Then a few hundred feet further away was the Uspenskiy Cathedral, a large square building looking very light pink, the façade dominated by Byzantine rounded arches, and a large central domed turret surrounded by four smaller domed turrets, and all the domes were covered in gold with crosses rising up from them. The edges of the roof was also covered in gold frieze work, as if to demonstrate the richness of the constructors.
[Ed Note: A turret is a small tower, often at the corner of a building, it is different from a regular tower in that a turret is a smaller structure while a tower begins at ground level. In short this is an architectural turret not a military one.]
Now they waited, the interior of the church was splendid as well, especially the baroque iconostasis, and the magnificent icons covered in thin gold leaf, indeed all of the interior of the Cathedral had a certain haunting beauty as the outside sunlight made the gold reflect the light like a second sun. There were of course no pews, and people would mill about aiding in lighting candles, or standing in small groups, occasionally casting a curious look at the foreigners, there weren't many of those around. All the women were modesty dressed, and wore shawls around their heads and hair, covering themselves up before they entered the church. Calista did just as she was about to enter.
She was a magnificent sight, the sun playing in her golden hair, chatting amiably to another woman that was walking next to her, a woman with much darker hair and skin, a chocolate brown complexion to Calista's almost milky white. Both of them were wearing long blue skirts, blue jackets, and white shirts beneath, with simple sensible cloth shoes with rubber soles. They were carrying with them purses, Calista had a black leather purse, or perhaps it was imitation, and the darker woman had a purse made from wicker, both of them pulled out long elaborate shawls that they wrapped around their heads and hair, Calista's was a multi-coloured one but otherwise quite simple. They smiled happily as they entered the church, behind them a small group of similarly dressed women, and some men in dark trousers and blue jackets came in, most of these were dark skinned and Myers felt a shiver up his spine as he saw it all of them have those damnable tattoos he thought to himself. For the most part these escaped serfs kept to themselves, seeming very reverent of the place they were in, and in their eyes an almost ecstatic fire seemed to glow.
There is a certain haunting beauty about the Orthodox service, the elaborate incense censers, the magnificent gold embroidered vestments of the priests, their mitres and the long melodic Slavic chants. The sermon was in an incomprehensible language, but it was all very beautiful, Lapshov had declined to attend them but he had told them "An Orthodox service is meant to give you a taste of heaven, it is literally a piece of heaven taken down to earth, to give you something sweet". At first it was hard to understand such a statement, but then the mystical feeling of the service gained power, the long singing and you felt the beauty of the music, he was astounded that there were no instruments for he could have sworn that the songs had to have instruments, but the only thing they used were voices. Then there were the candles, the processions, and the icons, adding to a haunting mystical beauty that seemed to make all other church services seem pale and lifeless.
With the permission of the priests Smith had been able to take some unobtrusive photographs, catching pictures of the cathedral, the procession, the rituals, and of Calista circumflexing and crossing herself, a look of innocent virtue and piety on her face. She seemed positively saintly in the light, as she looked up upon the images of Christ and the saints.
After the service Myers was surprised to see her approaching him well it saves me the trouble he thought. She was however with the dark complexion young woman that she had entered the Church with.
"Pleasure to meet you Mr Myers," she said to him, clearly working very hard to enunciate properly, her thick accent sounded cute and innocent to his ears. Then turning to the dark complexioned woman she added "This is Jack Myers, an American reporter, and this is Nadia Nemova, she's a senior at the centre, we're in the same study group."
"You too Miss Simonova, and Miss Nemova" he replied, then looking uneasily at the Church relax man, the Cossacks hordes seem to have cancelled "Very nice service, I had heard of them, but never seen one before." He stifled a desire to ask 'do you go here a lot', it sounded incredibly corny and definitely not right for the occasion.
"It's Papadopoulou," Calista remarked sweetly "Simonova is the patronymic that the Russians like to give me, though of course..." she looked sad before she added "It's not the right one."
Not the? Oh, right... instantly Myers realised I don't suppose they'd like her to use the overseers name. Fortunately they could strike up a quick conversation, and much to his relief he found that she had been tasked with purchasing certain items for the "anti-exploitation drive"
"So you're in a study group together?" Myers asked interesting, bit of human interest that he pressed his mind to recall the deal hmmm yes, they get this study program to allow them to fit into society he thought recalling that he had read about this before he went out here.
"Yes we are actually," Calista said with a smile "This is part of it, they think it's good for us, to move about and do things without being supervised, it teaches independence and necessary skills in handling yourself, and Vladimir is a small safe city for putting on the training wheels." Calista explained all of it, appearing quite happy that she had some time for herself "I also have to pick up some olive oil for the oil lamps."
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CITY OF VLADIMIR
VLADIMIR OBLAST
RUSSIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
FRIDAY 22 APRIL 1938 - OLD CALENDRIST GOOD FRIDAY
After meeting at the Cathedral was easy enough to persuade the pair to let him come along and help them out a bit, and of course talk on the way. Something in the back of Myers mind felt something a tad odd about this, especially as their friendly MGB contact person was curiously absent even though this was definitely a press function, and he too found himself unsupervised for the first time since he entered the USSR. I'm too paranoid he told himself and shrugged even the commies can't watch everyone all the time, and at any rate if they're not watching me they can hardly complain if I got looking for a story.
The regular stores of the city were much like the ones he had seen in the Brusilov Prospects area, but the department stores were surprisingly well stocked, albeit it rather expensive. As he looked around the stores he subconsciously compared them to American supermarkets, and they rarely came out ahead in that respect. The bulk of them reminded him of larger versions of the old local or corner store, same higher prices and same low selection, even the layout and appearance of them were much the same. Also of course in many of the stores you didn't go around among the produce, but instead approached the desk, said what you wanted, and then the staff would go out to find it for you.
"Everything is so expensive these days, tea and olives in particular," Calista commented, she was still cheerful despite high prices "Armenian olive oil, Georgian tea, the Soviet Union tries not to import any staples." She held up the metal can of olive oil, big square looking like a miniature gas tank, but with a glued on yellow brown paper etiquette with a black and white bucolic scene of grapes being pressed and the vast olive groves in the background "I wish we could afford something better, but these days second pressing is the best we can hope for," then leaning in conspiratorially she added "It's not very good you know, no matter what the snooty shop people say, and you can't really get the really good olive oil in Vladimir anyway. Truth be told we have to import most olive oil from Greece anyway, which is a bit funny what with Greece being a Fascist country and all."
Nadia remained mostly quiet throughout, staying close to Calista, indeed the pair was never more than five feet apart, they'd occasionally talk in a low voice, but Nadia seemed very shy around Myers. The two would however talk in a low tone of voice and occasionally giggle a bit, making Myers feel that something was going on that no man could ever quite understand.
"We're going to have a little talk with a very famous mural painter, he is using Nadia as one of his models, he just happens to live nearby" Calista suddenly stated as she carried an enormous bag filled with groceries. Then looking at Myers she giggled a bit and added "Oh no, please, it's nothing like that, but just to make sure no one talks I am going as a chaperone."
Myers hadn't thought that he had seemed all that surprised or discomfited strange comment unless being a mural painter or artist is somehow... well they do have a reputation with the ladies. Yet strangely enough he had this feeling that the whole shopping route had been calculated to bring them very near to the latest project.
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PEOPLES PALACE
CITY OF VLADIMIR
VLADIMIR OBLAST
RUSSIAN SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
FRIDAY 22 APRIL 1938 - OLD CALENDRIST GOOD FRIDAY
The building in question was a large one, not just one of the standard apartment buildings, but rather a somewhat ornate building in a pseudo-Russo-Classical style that nevertheless left several large walls suitable for the painting of ornate murals. In front there was an elaborate set of long stairs leading up to a classical colonnade, in front of this colonnade, evenly spaced, were several statues of larger than life workers performing their craft, and on top of the building was a large onion dome surrounded by four other domes.
Myers knew that standing there gaping with an open mouth was a bad thing, so he didn't, instead he looked at the building oh yeah the murals are a good deal, cover as much of it up as possible then on second thought he realised well it's not that bad, when the domes get some colour on them, and the murals are up, but still.
Smith was flashing away pictures as if he didn't notice the somewhat odd architecture, or perhaps he just didn't care.
It was now that Myers first spotted the erstwhile artist, he was observing the building and making sketches. He was dark skinned, a light coffee complexion to his skin, fine features, long dark hair worn in a pony tail, dark soulful eyes, soft sensuous lips, a slight stubble on his cheek, and when he moved he seemed athletic and refined. Beneath his ear was a tattoo, an elaborate one, presumably to cover up his serf tattoo. He was wearing blue jeans and a white buttoned shirt, a curious combination to Myers mind, but then again Myers had heard that jeans were highly priced in the Soviet Union.
If this guy isn't the local lady killer, then I'm a toad He looked at Calista who seemed to be watching everything with a mixture of friendly awareness and motherly concern and now I see why you were so keen on insisting on the chaperone deal.
Nadia and the artist met, and exchanged one of those deep looks that only people deeply in love can manage, the kind that you either see as sweet and beautiful, or simply cloying. They began to talk, and the artist showed Nadia various sketches, Calista smiled a bit but kept a close eye on them, but now she and Nadia were somewhat separate and Myers could talk to her more or less privately.
"It's an interesting building," Myers began "Is he going to make the murals for it?"
"Some of them yes, normally murals are done in a more, ah, craftsman like fashion, is that the word?" Calista asked, peering curiously at Myers.
"Yeah, done like giant posters"
"Ah yes, I wondered that the right term was, that is how they do it, we like to have everyone have art and beautiful things, instead of it being for the pleasure of the few."
"Tell me is he good? I didn't hear his name" Myers asked looking at the young couple chatting amiably just far enough away that he couldn't hear what they were saying.
"Aristotle, and yes he's very good, he's kind of the pride of the repatriation centre."
"Really? Mind if I take some notes, it's for the background."
Calista smiled a bit "Of course not, please do, after all that's why you're here, to take notes and tell people about things right?"
"Yes, I suppose so" Myers said as he pulled out his pad and started doing shorthand notes well that was easy he thought to himself.
"Many of the murals are a bit, well" she blushed a bit "too craftsmanlike, but Aristotle is a real artist, he is very sought after, he did that one," she pointed at a nearby building "Well he did a four by six foot painting that was blown up, but that's his."
Myers looked at the painting, it was quite nice actually, unlike many of the slightly crude and propagandistic messages this one portrayed a scene of a dark skinned man, a farmer by the look of him, wiping his forehead as he looked upon the days work, with the sun setting in the horizon. It was quite well balanced.
"It's quite clever," she added "He made the whole building into a, ah, what is the word? A tableau? Anyway four times of the day, morning, the daily meal, the work, and then the evening... if you walk around the building it is a day in the life of a farmer."
"It is clever," Myers admitted Aristotle?
Calista smiled and whispered "I know what you're thinking, you are thinking 'What kind of name is Aristotle'," she smiled a bit again "You see the Draka liked to give us classical names, for their amusement, and so... Aristotle. I have been told that this was common for Romans to do with their serfs."
"Told after you got to freedom?"
Calista's eyes seemed to go cold "No, before," she said, then she gritted her teeth a bit "They told me a few anecdotes, and of course I overheard them talk among themselves." With a bitter smile she continued to speak "They didn't care more about my presence, or that of any other serf, than you or I would if a dog was present in the room. To them there are only serfs and masters, that's no way to live a life."
"I suppose you have a right to hate them," Myers commented, quickly noting everything down oh this is good, much better than what I got earlier
"Hate them? I don't hate them," she smiled sadly as she added "Not anymore, God forgive me," she crossed herself "But once I did, I hated, it is an unworthy feeling. I don't hate them anymore, I now know that there will be justice in this world, as well as the next, for which good men and women rejoice, and criminals tremble..." She sighed softly "I try to be a good Christian, and not hate or feel angry, and I pray, even for my dead master Jacob DeVore," she smiled sadly again "Especially for him."
"You pray for the man you killed?" He felt like he could bite his tongue off idiot! Who knows how fragile she is? Lord knows she don't need you messing with her more. Maybe I should just blow it off, but then... there was an internal struggle, part wanted to not push Calista further, and part wanted her segment out before the special 1st of May issue.
"Oh yes I pray for him, though he was most certainly unrepentant, but," she smiled again "The true Christian prays for all, even for the devils in hell, for who needs it more? The true Church grants comfort and brings us closer to God, unlike the false Church of the Domination..."
"The False Church?" Myers asked interested, carefully nudging her on.
"They are evil apostates to be sure," she looked sad, and quite a bit angry too "They lied to us, deceived us, told us God adored us for submitting meekly, even for submitting to the sinful wishes of our masters, and then..." her accent grew thicker as she continued talking "They even violated the sanctity of the confessional!"
Myers nodded sagely "Is that why you decided to run away?" he asked realising that she has never said why.
Calista looked at him, "I didn't know better, how could I? No..." she looked at the couple standing by the side of the Peoples Palace "I ran because I wanted to be safe, safe from being sold, and safe from being beaten, and safe from... safe from so many things, and true safety is only found when you're free."
She pointed at Nadia and Aristotle "Look at them, so beautiful, so in love, and I love them too like I would a brother or a sister," she looks at Myers "and my heart breaks at the thought of what they've endured, I shan't tell you that is up to them, but not a day goes by that I don't weep at the thought of what is being done in the Domination. They're free, free to play little courtship games without worries that Master will do something hideous to one of them, and if some fool does try something Aristotle can punch his lights out. What are you if you can't even defend the woman you love, or be defended by the man you love? You're nothing..." She smiled beautifully as she watched them.
Smith took a photo, and Myers made some notes, Calista looked at them "I probably talk to much."
"No Miss Papadopoulou," Myers replied with genuine sentiment "I assure you, you talk just enough."
Last edited by Norseman on 2004-08-09 05:48am, edited 1 time in total.
"The rifle itself has no moral stature, since it has no will of its own. Naturally, it may be used by evil men for evil purposes, but there are more good men than evil, and while the latter cannot be persuaded to the path of righteousness by propaganda, they can certainly be corrected by good men with rifles."
MKSheppard wrote:
Nice bitchslap about that scientific diet BS, too
Norseman wrote:
No, no, no, you forget it is not scientific diet BS, it is scientific diet and a carefully graduated training regimen BS:
Quote:
And the three troopers moved. Lying with his back to the wall, Dreiser had a perfect view; they bounced forward, not bothering to come to their feet, flinging themselves up with a flexing of arm and legs, hurdled the wall without pausing, hit the other side with legs pumping and bodies almost horizontal, moving like broken-field runners. Dreiser twisted to follow them, blinking back surprise. No matter how often it was demonstrated, it was always a shock to realize how strong these people were, how fast and flexible and coordinated. It was not the ox-muscled bull massiveness of the Janissaries he'd seen, but leopard strength. Twenty years, he reminded himself. Twenty years of scientific diet and a carefully graduated exercise program; they had been running assault courses since before puberty.
Quoting the book again, does anyone have any comments on that paragraph? I mean sure these are paratroopers, but Stirling goes on and on about how Über the Draka are.
20 years, huh? How long does it take a real-world army to train a paratrooper? A few months?
How about Navy SEALs? The SEALs take personnel from all walks of the Navy services. It doen't matter if their main duty before was swabbing the deck--They wind up in the best shape a human being can possibly be in if they can handle the training.
And then there are Marines. I'm sure most of us have seen Full Metal Jacket, and saw how tough the training is...
And all the physical training in the world ain't gonna make you bulletproof.
There's always someone faster.
*Imagines a gunfight between tuberculosis-ridden Doc Holliday and a Draka*
Lonestar wrote:
A Radio controlled Virus?
There will not be any of that bullshit in the Caribbean Beat.
The Draka books are just chock full of bad of bad science fiction.
I read the Draka omnibus (my library had it) and by the time I got to The Stone Dogs I was like this:
A radio controlled virus...
And you know this is probably one of the few fictional books I've read that disgusted me.
I don't even see how a nation like that could survive past the 19th century,
especially since began as part of the British Empire. Why didn't Queen Victoria put the Royal smackdown on these sickos is beyond me.
`If I knew that a man was coming to my house with the fixed intention of doing me good, I would run for my life.`--Henry David Thoreau
"The beatings will continue until morale improves"
There is no problem which cannot be solved through the liberal use of napalm."
ASVS'er better known as Nathan Yates
When this project is done why don't you continue it and write a crossover in which the Draka at the height of their power meet a society which could hammer them like the fuckwits they really are.
The Culture comes to mind. Or Civilization perhaps. Asimov's or Lucas' Galactic Empires maybe. Skylark DuQuesne?
Or if you want to just wipe them out with their own game, have one of them visit the Fourth Empire right before it's destruction . The Umak Weapon would teach them a whole new definition of biowarfare, right before it wiped them and their entire society from the multiverse for all time.
"Mother, implement Case Omega."
-the last time Colin MacIntyre gives an order without thinking it through.
To be fair to Stirling, he did address the slavery in the British Empire bit. The Draka changed to a rigged form of debt slavery system where it was virtually impossible to earn freedom, which is why they are called serfs. Remember at the this time the Brits had debtor prisons and indetured servitude was ended after slavery in the U.S.
The Last Rebel wrote:
20 years, huh? How long does it take a real-world army to train a paratrooper? A few months?
Current US military jump training (everyone takes the same course regardless of branch) is three weeks long. Everything else for a paratrooper is just normal infantry training which varies in length, generally it's going to total a couple months.
How about Navy SEALs? The SEALs take personnel from all walks of the Navy services. It doen't matter if their main duty before was swabbing the deck--They wind up in the best shape a human being can possibly be in if they can handle the training.
The US Navy SEAL's, and the Delta force both have six-month courses. Some special forces run training courses as long as two years however. But really, vast amount of time spent in training programs is stupid. There are many things which your only going to learn and improve on if your doing them alongside the guys your going to fight with, and if you have combat experience. 20 years of training would be utterly pointless, you'd wouldn't be training to fight the last war, you'd be training to fight several wars past, and all of the people you started out with would be well past there physical prime and be generally worn out.
And all the physical training in the world ain't gonna make you bulletproof.
There's always someone faster.
*Imagines a gunfight between tuberculosis-ridden Doc Holliday and a Draka*
Indeed, almost all tasks call for good infantry, not highly trained hand picked commandos. The US and Canada basically tried out fielding large units of commandos for convetional fighting with the 1st Special Service Force in WW2. The unit had to be disbanned after suffering somthing like 134% losses in about a year. Once you get into fighting with tanks and artillery and endless numbers of mines, that lack of bulletproofing becomes very apparent.
"This cult of special forces is as sensible as to form a Royal Corps of Tree Climbers and say that no soldier who does not wear its green hat with a bunch of oak leaves stuck in it should be expected to climb a tree"
— Field Marshal William Slim 1956
The Last Rebel wrote:
How about Navy SEALs? The SEALs take personnel from all walks of the Navy services. It doen't matter if their main duty before was swabbing the deck--They wind up in the best shape a human being can possibly be in if they can handle the training.
The US Navy SEAL's, and the Delta force both have six-month courses. Some special forces run training courses as long as two years however. But really, vast amount of time spent in training programs is stupid. There are many things which your only going to learn and improve on if your doing them alongside the guys your going to fight with, and if you have combat experience. 20 years of training would be utterly pointless, you'd wouldn't be training to fight the last war, you'd be training to fight several wars past, and all of the people you started out with would be well past there physical prime and be generally worn out.
Uhm in all fairness to S. M. Stirling the training he talks about DOESN'T begin at age 18, the training begins at age 5; Basically from age 5 and onwards every single Draka begins military training, and at the age of 18 they are sent to four years of military service which is, and I quote
Training: Citizen children are enrolled in boarding schools eight months of the year from the age of 5. Military training begins almost at once, both physical and psychological. The aims are toughness, hardiness (ruthlessness and indifference to pain are emphasized), independence, leadership and cooperative teamwork.
Robotic obedience is not encouraged; the Draka have always been outnumbered, and cannot afford to bludgeon their enemies to death. After 12, training becomes more specific: marksmanship, fieldcraft, technical subjects, small-unit tactics, wilderness survival, live-firing exercises, etc.
Military service begins at 18 and lasts or four years in peacetime. Since the conscript is already in fine physical condition and more than familiar with the basics, "basic" training is actually more like an advanced specialist's course. Leadership candidates are identified during the first year, and qualification testing screens applicants for NCO rank. All officers are promoted "from the ranks," and then receive advanced training in a number of specialized schools. After the basic four years (longer for officers and NCOs) most Draka undergo two months' reserve service a year; after age 40 most are transferred into second-line formations. At full mobilization, 19.2 percent of the total Citizen population is under arms.
In short the 20 years of training represents their training from childhood onwards, making them all elite Martial Artists with unbelievable physiques, so that even highly trained commandoes can't pass...
Under the Yoke wrote:
And the balance problems… He recalled the defector: "Yo' combat-style would be a dead giveaway in any palaestra in the Domination, an' anyhows yo' cain't fight worth shit. Kustaa had bristled at the time, but a few humiliating sparring-sessions had cured him of that. Mo' to the point, yo' cain't practice, or do gymnastics or even dance, and all of them is impo'tant socially. This gets yo' off, an nobody will pick fights with yo'. Impaired hearing would make others more likely to talk around him, and the Combat Engineers accounted for the workman's set of his muscles.
And who is it that can't fight worth a damn? Well this fellow according to Stirling:
Under the Yoke wrote:
"Fred Kustaa," he replied aloud, conscious of the other's slow, considering stare. At least I've kept in shape. Kustaa was a big man, two inches over six feet, broad-shouldered and long in the limbs. A farm-boy originally, and a light-heavyweight of some promise at St. Paul Institute, before the war; the slight kink of a broken nose still showed it. The Marines worked a man hard, too, and after the War he had spent some time on Okinawa and joined a dojo; the OSS had encouraged him to keep it up… A ragged pattern of old white scars showed along one flank and up under the thatch of yellow hair on his chest, legacy of a Japanese grenade.
In short a heavily trained former marine, one who was a promising boxer and did Martial Arts training would get his heinie kicked in hand to hand with any regular old Draka...
Mind you the OSS are screwed in the head for sending people like this out there in the first place, but that's a different matter.
Sea Skimmer wrote:
And all the physical training in the world ain't gonna make you bulletproof.
There's always someone faster.
*Imagines a gunfight between tuberculosis-ridden Doc Holliday and a Draka*
Indeed, almost all tasks call for good infantry, not highly trained hand picked commandos. The US and Canada basically tried out fielding large units of commandos for convetional fighting with the 1st Special Service Force in WW2. The unit had to be disbanned after suffering somthing like 134% losses in about a year. Once you get into fighting with tanks and artillery and endless numbers of mines, that lack of bulletproofing becomes very apparent.
Quite true, quite true, but Stirling loves to mention how strong his people are, how fast they are, how well co-ordinated, and basically they are supposed to be ultimate fighters.
RED SQUARE
MOSCOW
RUSSIAN FEDERATIVE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
SUNDAY 1 MAY 1938
It was the early twilight, the air brought with it a slight chill, and somewhere in the distance you could hear an orchestra performing the international, but the sounds only intermittently reached you. Somewhere in the distance a bird started chirping, but stopped as a honking horn could be heard in the distance, as Moscow began to wake to life. There was a certain feeling in the air, a certain sense of expectation on this cool summer morning.
The square had been cleaned thoroughly last night, and now a couple of officers sauntered across the square making sure that everything stayed that way, behind them came a small group of bedraggled soldiers with garbage bags ready to scoop up anything that seemed out of place.
Jack Myers shivered a bit as he pulled his jacket around him don't be ridiculous Jack, it's not that cold, it's just that you just got out of bed Fortunately someone had been foreseeing enough to provide a small mobile kitchen for the foreign journalists, it didn't serve anything other than tea, coffee and some kind of soup, but it was enough to get you up and going in the early morning.
Today was the day for the legendary May Day parades, where the Soviet Union would display samples of their latest military hardware, and of course have massive floats and other displays. For a political observer the May Day speech by the Chairman was of course far more important, but for a journalist describing the USSR the parade was very descriptive of what the Soviet Union wanted to show off.
It wasn't required to be out here so early, but a lot of journalists chose to be here anyway. Myers had stood there chatting to them, they were men or women aged from the mid twenties to the fifties, but most of them nicely dressed people who stood by quietly and waited. Of course external appearances aside they came into two main groups, the kind that viewed the Soviet Union as the Evil Empire on Earth, and the kind that viewed it as the New Wave of the Future. People like Myers, neutral though slightly suspicious of the USSR seemed to be rare, of course their deceptions are often so easy to see through he thought to himself, musing on the Russians secretive but not very subtle.
Lieutenant Lapshov was also there, looking very spiffy in his brand new uniform which fitted him suspiciously well, officially he was there to continue his liaison work. However unbeknownst to Myers Lapshov's real mission was to make sure that Myers stayed the course in his article, being marginally critical of the USSR was permitted as long as the project went without a hitch. He gently touched his collar again, making sure his necktie was done right and his collar stiff and fine, he had spent close to three months wages on a tailor made uniform, and that out of his own pocket as the capitalists say, it's an investment, it pays to look good in front of the superiors.
"Comrade Reporter," Lapshov greeted Myers "What a pleasure it is to encounter you here so fortuitously on this lovely May Day morning."
"Is it always this cold in the mornings Lieutenant?" Myers asked as he sipped his mug of coffee, it was big and white with a big stylized red star with hammer and sickle design, it had a chip in it.
"It will be nice and warm later on, or so the meteorologists promise" as if they have a clue, my grandmother, God rest her soul, could tell the weather better than them Lapshov said amiably "Moscow gets quite warm in summer, like your inland states, warm in the summer and cold in the winter."
"The Kansas of Eurasia," Myers said absentmindedly as he sipped the coffee.
Lapshov smiled at him "We're not in Kansas anymore Mr Myers"
Myers laughed Hollywood, God bless'em "So what happens next?" He asked just to have something to say.
"Next you get good positions to see the parade and the Comrade Ministers and Comrade Krasnov, after which you are cordially invited to stand in the reporters section and receive instantaneous translations of the May Day speech by Comrade Krasnov, after which you may attend the state dinner in the Kremlin," Lapshov seemed almost wistful as he added "They have an excellent menu."
"Fancier than anything the average Soviet citizen ever sees I'd imagine," Myers said, regretting it as it came out now is not the time, and here is not the place, shit I'm more tired than I thought
"Sumptuous dinners are the norm for such things Comrade Reporter," Lapshov said easily enough "The Soviet Union is a deeply cultured country and we the Soviet People are willing to make certain sacrifices to ensure that the world can see that on such occasions," We didn't make these rules, and if we serve borsh and kasha people laugh and say 'look at the silly Russians, such uncivilized clods they are'
------------------
PARADE REGIMENT BUILDING
MOSCOW
RUSSIAN FEDERATIVE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
SUNDAY 1 MAY 1938
Unlike many other countries that had units from all over the nation parade on their national day the Soviet Union had found a different and rather typical solution; the Parade Regiment, a reinforced regiment of highly motivated and competent full time soldiers whose duty consisted solely of making parades in Moscow of which the May Day parade was the most important. This unit was unusual in that it did not rely upon conscripts, but also in that every single member, from privates and up, had to have a high-school equivalent in practical mechanics.
They were currently doing last minute inspections of their vehicles, everything up to and including stethoscopes were used to ensure that the vehicles were in the finest working shape; a consistent nightmare for every officer and sergeant was that their vehicle should be the one that sputtered and came to a smoking end in the middle of the Red Square.
Everything was in perfect working order when the Colonel walked down the line, stopping at every single vehicle and waiting for the crew to stand at rigid attention before he would make a vague hand motion and then bark out the word "REPORT!" Then the only reply that you could give was "REPORTING VEHICLE READY FOR DEPLOYMENT COMRADE COLONEL!" God knows that if there was actually something wrong that you couldn't fix you were better off quietly removing the vehicle altogether and trying to acquire, or steal not to mince words, another one from wherever you could find one.
Of course with the plethora of mechanics and Special vehicles the chances of having more than a handful of permanents every year were quite slim. The Parade regiment received the very finest of the Special vehicles, that is the ones that were submitted to testing rather than the Production vehicles that were sent out to the consumer.
------------------
In addition to the military aspect there was of course the civilian aspect, first the participants in the celebrations that would burst forth completely spontaneously. Many of them had at first been a bit unsure of how to celebrate spontaneously and socialistically, indeed they had been running about chanting slogans and waving banners in one unruly mix. Fortunately Comrade Nanutva had explained "No no Comrades!" Clearly they had been spoiled by years of Tsarist and Capitalist oppression! "This is spontaneous," she had said as she demonstrated the right postures and hand movements, they had to learn how to be spontaneous and that took a very long time.
Today the floats would be more magnificent than ever, and of course the banners would also contain the usual bombastic slogans promising further tons of pig iron, the electrification of the country side, and the bloody overthrow of the Imperialist pigs. That and of course the celebration of the cultural diversity of the Soviet Union, something which would be treated with all due reverence on May Day, unlike normal days when such displays of ethnicity would solicit such loving Russian terms of endearment like chernozhopyi, kosoglazyi, and ashotik. Usually followed by a swift exchange of punches and kicks, all in the name of Socialist Fraternity of course!
------------------
RED SQUARE
MOSCOW
RUSSIAN FEDERATIVE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
SUNDAY 1 MAY 1938
Jack Myers wasn't shivering anymore as the sun began to rise, indeed temperatures seemed to rise and soon he felt quite warm, it was turning out to be quite the nice summer day. Pretty soon he had unbuttoned the heavy coat that he was wearing and let it stay open, even so his toes still felt cold. Fortunately a good shot of Russian Vodka helped get the blood circulation back and running again, he smiled widely as he felt the blessed warmth spread to every extremity of his body.
"It's good Vodka" Lapshov commented, he himself had quaffed down several tumblers, unlike the foreigners who usually sipped gently Lapshov simply placed it to his lips and threw his head back emptying it in one gulp.
Myers was watching him intently, but to his great amazement there was not a hint of a slurred voice or any sign of inebriation Damn their livers must look like month old leftovers. Trying to keep up with his guide was impossible, and he had to limit himself to polite timid little sips, something which annoyed him a bit as he felt it looked a bit effete.
{{Damn is this good Vodka, I'd have to pay a weeks wages for a bottle of this}} Lapshov pondered as he gulped down another shot {{Too bad I can't really indulge, oh this is smooth}} "They say..."
"Yes?" Myers said.
"They say the Tsar," Lapshov held up the glass "The Tsar was drinking this brand of Vodka, when they come for him, yes imagine..." Lapshov made a hand motion "There he sits, this hereditary lord, who thinks that his birth somehow gives him the right to be master, he sits in a room with gilded walls, filled with beautiful art of centuries, and he sits upon an expensive chair... he is drinking, and then... THEN the Revolution comes! BAM! The door torn open, the tumbler falling to the ground and rolling away, as they drag off the autocrat of Russia to a well deserved doom!" He smiled at Myers and added "If not for the audience I should toast the death of tyrants and break my glass, but it would be too much I fear."
Myers smiled at that and chuckled "Yes I think so too," he felt strangely at ease in Lapshovs company, if there was one thing that Lapshov had really done it was show him the very real human face of the Soviet Union.
Already many people lined the Red Square as the early birds had gotten in place early on to get the best spots, many of them were families that had brought their children to watch one of the greatest displays in the Socialist Motherland. Some of the parents let their children sit on their shoulders, and everyone had hammer and sickle pins and badges, with tiny red flags to wave, all of which was provided for a very low price by various vendors if anyone should, somehow, have forgotten.
Moments later developments began to occur, people in fancy uniforms began to ascent onto the elaborate podium that had been set up earlier, Myers could recognise a few of the people there from newsreel broadcasts All the high mucketimucks are turning out.
"Who's that?" He asked Lapshov pointing at one of the figures.
Lapshov looked at him, and then squinted in the direction of the podium, "Please Mr Myers, it's rude to point," he tried to make it sound casual and friendly but he was a bit nervous "who's who?" He added.
"Fourth guy from the left, next to Marshall Tukhachevsky" Myers said.
"That would Nikolai Vavilov, head of the Institute of Applied Botany and new Crops, twice Hero of Socialist Labour, there is talk of making him a non-voting member of the Politburo," Lapshovs voice approached awe as he added "The Giant that makes deserts into orchards."
"The what?" Myers asked.
"There was a movie when I was younger, ahm," he smiled a bit "About great projects, the Virgin Soil projects in Northern Kazakhstans to find suitable crops to grow there, they also experimented with the first large scale plantings of teff."
There was the longest wait now, to build up anticipation before the Great Man himself would arrive, and in that time more and more people could arrive. Indeed people were starting to get excited about the prospect of seeing the great man himself, and they were starting to seem excited. Then slowly the cavalcade holding the great man began to move up the Red Square, then he left his limousine and ascended up to the podium, immediately the chant of Krasnov, KRASNOV, KRASNOV began to rise from the thousands of throats. There was a certain hypnotic quality to this chant, and Myers had to stop himself several times from joining in.
The Great Man himself ascended up the podium, and there at the top he stretched out his hand to the cheers of the people, the chanting rose even higher until he signalled for the Parade to begin, at which point it slowly died down as the first rumbling vehicles began to pass by.
First came the workers and peasants of the Soviet Union, chanting slogans and holding banners covered in more slogans, and with pictures of Lenin and red stars. They were dressed like workers and peasants, and indeed you could scarcely find more stereotypical people there, you had your square jawed stout workers, your pretty farm girls, your old fashioned farmers, and your big stout working class girls holding banners, all of them extruding joy and health. [1]
Then came the elaborate floats displaying the wealth and produce of the Soviet Union, all to build up a suitable feeling of progress, prosperity, and a sense of belonging and beauty. A way of saying to the people "This is who we are, this is what we need to defend," which of course was thematically very well suited to lead up to the introduction of the Armed forces.
The tanks came force, the rattling of the tanks sounded like distant thunder to Myers, as row upon row of tanks arrived spearheading the military aspects of the May Day parade followed shortly by an enormous marching band orchestra covered with more gold epaulets and braided ropes than Myers had ever seen outside of a Doormans Convention. Then the main parade itself began, all the while the air was filled with the sound of various military marches being played very loudly, so much so they could be heard over the sound of the Soviet machinery being displayed.
Now there came row upon row of uniformed soldiers holding strange rifles with box cartridges, they were marching in perfect unison goose stepping down the Red Square with the sound of their boots reminding Myers of the sound of distant gunshots. Behind them followed seemingly endless rows of army trucks, each and every one of them filled with soldiers sitting bolt upright, with firm immobile faces. It was like watching some great and terrible machine advancing, then he noticed that there was text written on the side of many of the vehicles.
"What does it say!" he shouted to Lapshov and pointed at the trucks.
Lapshov peered, then he grinned and said "For the Motherland!"
There was a strange smell in the air, and something about those trucks didn't look right, Myers couldn't quite figure it out and he frowned as he thought What is WRONG with them? Then suddenly realisation struck They're not autosteamers! "They're not steamers!"
"No Mr Myers, THOSE are the Soviet Unions finest diesel trucks," Lt Lapshov said with a smile "You try operating a steamer when it hits minus forty degrees centigrade."
Myers looked blankly into space as he did the conversions in his head "Oh my God! That would..."
Then before he could continue his thoughts the next aspect of the parade continued, and now the Soviets eyes began to shine a little as the first armoured cars began to roll down the square. They were angular things, quite ugly to Myers eyes, but there was a lot of them driving in perfect unison, dozens, hundreds densely packed like some massive cornucopia of armaments were sending forth an endless stream of rattling Russian BA-10 Armoured Cars.
"Light tanks, production at least twenty thousand a year, soon to be ramped up to sixty thousand," Lapshov commented absentmindedly, then as the light tanks began to come he added "Every year we make more armoured cars and tanks than the Draka do in a decade." [2]
The T-60 light tanks were dinky things to Myers eye, certainly not the massive impressive machinery that he can come to expect, but still there were a lot of them.
Then Lapshov began to whistle a little tune, "The rattling of the tanks were like a thunder on the plain," he half hummed in English.
Before Myers could ask what he meant he realised it, tanks, hundreds of them, so densely packed and so close that he could almost touch them, and he felt the vibrations of the hundreds of tracks carry through his body and making his teeth chatter slightly, or perhaps it was the cold. Bright red stars painted on the side of the T-31s and T-34s, with the commander of each echelon standing up in his cupola and saluting, while row upon row of the biggest tanks Myers had ever seen rolled by. Then came the LT-1s and LT-3s, named for Leon Trotsky, the heavy tanks, the turrets looked like gigantic boxes mounted on top of another gigantic box.
However what really shocked him was the T-28s and T-35s, the three and five turreted models, rumbling ominously down the Red Square like some land dreadnaught, and it was so huge! They seemed to extrude power in a way nothing else could, the big Soviet tanks seemed to dwarf the self propelled guns and the tank destroyers, and damn it! The sound of the tanks WERE like a thunder across the Red Square! As he watched the five turreted tanks roll down the Red Square Myers could not for the life of him imagine how anyone could stand against such power.
Then came massive floats, pulled by the enormous tractors so beloved by the Soviet union, and on those floats were displayed scale models of the various ships of the Soviet Navy, they were all of impressive workmanship showing astonishing detail, including a line display on the railing to give the viewers an idea of the scale. The most impressive of these displays were without doubt the massive Dmitrityii Donskoy class ships, still in their shake down cruises, but never the less even the models brought awed looks from the locals as the massive model turrets turned sixty degrees showing that they were fully operational.
The other impressive detail was the large model of the new Red Square class carrier, it was a tiny thing in real life but the model certainly looked impressive with several model airplanes stacked on its deck.
"Models?" Myers asked, even though he had heard about it, hearing about a thing and seeing it is quite different.
"In the old days they had big photographs, but I think this works much better, yes?" Lt Lapshov said.
Then suddenly it changed from giant floats to another marching band and this time a jaunty march was struck up as row upon row of young men wearing air force uniform began to march down the Red Square. Even as they marched Myers looked up and saw a great number of Red Air Force airplanes flying over, just low enough to be safe, and he could actually read the text written on their wings, and the troops marched on, and the music played. For the first time he felt impressed, the whole thing was simply magnificent, very theatrical but very impressive. All young boys everyone dreamed of the air, there was something about airborne displays that brought back childhood memories for Myers, even one where they just flew over in perfect formation.
Now however it was time for the greatest love of the Russians, and that of course was the artillery, big artillery pulled by big artillery tractors or big trucks. Indeed for the Russians the love of artillery was a major cultural quirk, there was nothing like a big gun making a big boom to bring joy to a Russian soldier.
Now there was another jaunty march, and then multiple rows of towed AA guns were introduced, starting with the light stuff like 20mm, 40mm, 50mm, and 127mm, the little peashooters for the Russians. Even so there was a lot of it, even a battery of Cossack AA was drawn past, with Cossacks in colourful uniform and sabres at their sides, and horses pulling light mountain AA. It all looked very splendid.
Then however came the real guns, the huge 203mm and 250mm anti-air guns, "Those Mr Myers will slap any airship out of the sky, and there are many of them, many! Those 250mm guns you see, they are based on an anti-SHIP gun, rapid velocity naval, so it has the good range!" [3]
Then came the endless rows of heavier artillery 128mm field artillery, 155mm field artillery, 203mm field artillery, 250mm field artillery, and giant vast 280mm and 304mm artillery pieces that were pulled in using special tracked vehicles and a massive bed that looked like a railway artillery case carefully configured for roadside use. Here there were guns, guns so big that the ones Myers had seen on American displays seemed like little peashooters.
Yet when he thought he had seen the biggest artillery in the world another march began, and a small army of artillery men marched in lockstep forward, followed closely by two tracked vehicles pulling the biggest custom design artillery vehicles he had ever seen. On these vehicles stood something huge, it was so big that the men standing by the side of these cannon were dwarfed, here then was something the size of a battleships cannon. Not satisfied with this, behind these there were floats carrying the shells to these cannon, and beside the shells stood men in Soviet artillery uniforms, they looked almost tiny next to the enormous artillery shells that in many cases were taller than they were. [4]
"406 millimetre, or 16 inches in your terms," Lapshov said "Heavy mortars, when we bring these up there won't be anything left of anything they hit, BIG boom, and then the slavocrat fortress is gone!"
"SIXTEEN inches?" Myers asked in awe "And this is for land?"
"Big Guns of Russia", Lapshov replied "Oh it makes you wish you joined the Artillery branch don't it?"
"So you could have a really big gun?" Myers asked mischievously.
Lapshov smiled "I decline to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me."
The massive Parade now began to move towards the end, with the last of the enormous cannon vanishing into the horizon. The whole thing ended up with another massive marching band which patriotically enough played the Soviet National Anthem, recently changed from The International in order to appease certain European interest groups.
Then it was time for the speech, Myers shuffled over into the reporters section and was gratified to receive a pair of surprisingly elegant and light bakelite and steel earphones that linked to a very small and light radio. It was one of the buttoned models, each button had a tiny flag painted on it, there was one that was half British and half American, a French one, a German one, a Spanish one, an Italian one, and even a Portuguese one. The radio was lovely, metal and bakelite with carefully rounded forms, no cracks or deviations, a nice leather strap you could use to hang it over your shoulder. [5]
"Comrades, please push the button with your language flag on it, and you will hear the speech translated into your language," the aides that handed it out told everyone, in six different languages mind. They were very pretty and charming the aides, wearing neat uniforms and Komsomol pins, indeed most of them looked like American cheerleaders much to Myers surprise.
"This is a splendid product of Soviet Ingenuity, designed and built in the Soviet Union, but the hard working intelligencia and labourers of our Union," they said in chirpy voices that resounded with joy and enthusiasm.
"Amazing isn't it," Lapshov commented eagerly, "They are wonderful devices, allowing you to have difficult speeches translated immediately!"
Myers looked at him with a bit of surprise "What you got a relative working in the factory Lieutenant?" He said half joking.
"How did you know Mr Myers?" Lapshov said sounding genuinely surprised "My brother works there, he is a section supervisor."
Now however there was no time for the speech, while Lapshov and Myers had been getting ready to hear the translation the Red Square had been filled with carefully arrange groups of workers and soldiers standing there in a seemingly spontaneous mixture of the workers and soldiers of the Soviet Union. In reality what appeared to be chaos was really a carefully choreographed display placing "neatly disordered" ranks of attractive and healthy people in front of the back rows of regular citizens.
Then to the thunderous applause of the crowd the Great Man himself advanced towards a microphone, there was no squeal as he began to speak, but he smiled a little as he saw a small blue point on the side of the microphone Blaupunkt, that German habit of marking the best gear with a blue dot, and now our habit was the thought that went through his mind. Now however he heard the cheering of the people, the way they called his name, and the roar of the masses was like the voice of a god Remember Ivan, you are mortal he reminded himself as he reached out his hand and watched the crowd go silent.
"Brothers and Sisters of the Socialist Motherland," the crowd exploded in the chairs and chants once more "Gaze now upon our nation and rejoice! For our nation is great, our nation is prosperous, our nation is fertile, and our nation is governed by the people! Our nation is free!" There were once more applause and chants.
"Our nation which has suffered greatly over the years, has finally broken free of the evil spell that laid over it for all those long years of oppression. Today a peasants son can get the highest degrees, today the coalminer, the farmer, the factory worker, all of them can truly work themselves up. There used to be a joke in the coalmines, when a man said that he would work himself up they would say, how? Will you dig upwards? It is not thus anymore, the evil days are over, we are prosperous."
"No longer do we see the class envy of the wicked people hold down our nation, we know truly the sweet taste of Socialism and Liberty. We are the masters of our own fate, no longer bound to harsh labour in return for the bare necessities of life."
"We shall continue to grow more prosperous, to this purpose the Government of the Soviet Union will continue its New Economic Policy, ensuring the growth of the Workers & Peoples Enterprises throughout the Soviet Union. It is clear to us that when the Workers themselves control the means of production, unprecedented growth and productivity is bound to occur, and so these policies shall naturally be continued!"
"Certain ignorant persons have suggested that it is unfitting for the Soviet Union to have trading relations with Capitalists, what utter nonsense! The Great Lenin himself said that there is much that we can learn from the Capitalists, and he did not hesitate to trade or negotiate with them when doing so would benefit the Soviet Union."
"Today we find that the Capitalist states still retain many things that the Soviet Union desires, and that the only way to spread Communist ideas in their countries are to have trade and diplomatic relations with them. If we were to break of these relations we would not only deny ourselves access to various goods that we need, but we would also deny our Comrades abroad the moral support of our the Soviet Union. Therefore the idea that the Soviet Union should cut itself of from the rest of the world is an idea that borders on the anti-social." [6]
"Therefore it remains the policy of the Soviet Union that we shall honour all the agreements we have made, diplomatic and economic, with the foreign world. It is the Categorical Pledge of the Soviet Union that we shall not be the ones to dishonour our commitments!"
"There is much talk these days of foreign involvements, the Soviet Union does, as always, believe in supporting the progressive governments of the world. Despite certain unfortunate events in the recent past [7] we will continue this policy of supporting all progressive governments that require it. It is unacceptable to abandon our comrades abroad! However that should not be taken to be a desire to spread Communism by way of military adventurism, unlike the Capitalists we do not send small bands of filibusters out to overthrow governments, nor will we send our armies against any nation that has not attacked us first. Instead it must be seen as what it is, our categorical pledge to support those legitimate progressive governments that call upon us for our aid!"
Myers blinked once, then twice to this, What the hell did he just say?. However now he began on a new tack, his mannerism and voice changing subtly, and the crowd being swept along by his words.
"We are not expansionists, we have nothing but love and understanding for our fellow man, and hope that he shall take the same step we have, and we know that History, that ancient force of destiny that goes beyond any man, History shall see World Socialism!"
"When I look upon you today, I feel great joy in my heart, for I see a people that have shaken off the chains of oppression and tyranny and greed, today we celebrate the worker, the builder, the creator. We celebrate our own hard labour, by which we have turned our great nation from one that was backwards and ruled by a dictator, and into one that is prosperous, advancing, and ruled by the people in accordance to the traditions of the enlightenment. On this route we have suffered much, we have endured the unendurable, we have slaved through the long centuries of autocratic darkness, of slavery, of oppression, and of ignorance; but we have come forth into the light of day, now we stand bathed in the light of knowledge."
"I see now before me the many peoples of the Soviet Union, united in fraternal love, having cast aside old fashioned prejudices and realised that all men are truly brothers. That is true without a doubt, no man should be happy if he knows his brother is oppressed, no man should be joyful if he knows his brother is starved, and if a man saw his brother being beaten and abused truly it is his duty to strike down the oppressor."
"We have struck down our oppressor, we have realised how easy it was, hear now the cries from a thousand throats, can you not hear the power behind them? Can you not feel the power that comes when you all raise your voice as one? Now we raise our voice as one, today we stand united, and we feel the strength of our unity, for we are one, one family united in Socialism, and there is no force in this world that break apart that family which stands firm!"
"Yet even though we are peaceful, even though we seek peace, there is an Empire of Evil on our border, a force malign and dark. Some say all evil comes from treating human beings, even yourself, as things, I believe this, and I see evil, dark and vile. It is our duty as thinking people to revile this force, it is our duty as Socialists to work towards its destruction, and it is our duty as Heroic Beings to crush the serpents head beneath our heel."
"We see our homes, they are cozy and warm, we see our beloved motherland, her expanses are great and her soil life giving, we see our people bound tightly to the land, connected to it as we are connected with sacred bonds of Kinship. Then on the other side there are the evils that would tear us apart from our land, break our blood links. We know what this evil is."
"The Domination of the Draka are our great enemy, and we shall destroy them utterly, we shall smash their monuments, burn their plantations, break the chains of serfdom, and give all the lands and factories to the people that work them. To this sacred purpose the whole of Soviet Society is dedicated, there is no cause more noble, and no sacrifice so great that we should not make it. God will not forgive us if we fail."[8]
There was a ROAR of chants and applause to this, the entire crowd seemed to loose everything resembling sense in expressing their appreciation. Myers felt his heart pound faster, and he clenched his fist, the speech, the people screaming around him, he found himself hating, HATING the Draka and suddenly found that his own voice had for a moment joined those of the crowd around him. Then shocked he came back to his senses and wondered what had happened, but he could see that the same spell had affected many of the other journalists, while others appeared stony faced.
What is it? He turns from a brief discourse on economic subjects and suddenly turn people into screaming fanatics, it's Myers realised what it was, it was fascinating, to see so much power in the hands of one man, and to see it aimed at one purpose Dangerous... even if the Draka are bad.
"Today on May Day, let us make a sacred vow, that we shall continue to build our economy, and our glorious Red Army, Soviet Navy, and Red Airforce, until we are ready to sweet the Abomination of the surface of the Earth!"
Another roar rose up, cheers and wavings of red banners as Krasnov continued yet again.
"When it is all over, and the enemy is destroyed, that is not the end, for after that... we shall have freed the world, and it shall be a beautiful world," his voice seemed to drop to a whisper "We shall create the perfect state, with enough for everyone, we shall create bliss upon this Earth, imagine it, live it, and it SHALL... BE... SO..." He held up his clenched fist in the Red Front salute "RED FRONT!"
The whole assembly exploded into cheers again, they waved and they shouted slogans, and all over the two slogans rose higher and higher "RED FRONT RED FRONT! KRASNOV KRASNOV RED FRONT!" Their clenched fist salute against the background of the Hammer and Sickle creating a hypnotic rhythm, and at that moment Myers knew that as Krasnov looked into the crowd their eyes met and the Great Man looked at him and him alone.
After that it was practically a delight to turn back the radio to the smiling Komsolets girls, Myers noticed that his Radio girl seemed particularly nice Naw, I'm imagining things he thought sadly as he began his walk towards the Kremlin itself for his attending the dinner.
------------------
FORMAL DINING HALL
KREMLIN
MOSCOW
RUSSIAN FEDERATIVE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
SUNDAY 1 MAY 1938
The formal dining hall was the usual Tsarist extravaganca, the walls were lined with amazingly intricate gold filigree work, and wherever you looked there was gilding, detail, beautiful ornate vases with landscapes on them, and big paintings of suitably magnificent looking battles, and men standing in dramatic poses around a table where some document was signed, or the ornate bed were someone was laying and dying (in most cases half the gentlemen depicted were in the first place glad the bastard was dead, and in the second place weren't even there in the first place, but bribed the painted to paint them in later).
That said it was much like any such occasion would be in any country, sumptuous palatial surroundings, fine linen tablecloths, polished shining silverware, elegant blue and white china tableware, fine cut crystal glasses, and of course a small army of servants moving silently to and fro to make sure everyone was satisfied. Indeed you might think yourself back in the age of the Tsar.
To the clinking of silverware, and the low murmur of conversation he began to finish his article in his mind. He also noticed that a lot of the Russians would, as each dish arrived, first look to Krasnov or one of the foreign diplomats, and only then pick the right fork or knife Russians... He thought.
A fitting ending to my mission to Moscow Myers thought as the elegant dinner began, and he watched everyone eat and maintain quiet polite conversation. Next week he'd return home with the airship, but the food was good, the wine was good, and his job was done.
THE END
Footnotes
[1] A cynic might point out that they seemed to have unusually good teeth, and be rather photogenic for peasants and workers. Further a cynic might comment that they look strangely like the extras from various propaganda movies, almost as if they had raided SovFilm for participants. However such horrible people have nothing to do with the May Day, and will be taken away by nice men and shown the errors of their ways.
[2] You would of course be wise to take any numbers Lapshov provides with a good heaping spoonful of salt.
[3] Likewise your hypothetical cynic might wonder why on Earth someone might make a 250mm AA gun, and might find upon closer inspection that it's not a gun but rather a piece of big pipe attached to an artillery mount. Then our hypothetical cynic would be shot for espionage, problem solved.
[4] The guns pulled are of course giant pieces of oil pipe carefully dandied up to look real, however the artillery shells themselves ARE real and were borrowed from the Dmitryii Donskoy project. Of course the men picked for the task of standing next to cannon and shells were picked for their small stature, to make the ironmongery they were next to all the more impressive.
[5] Of course the speech has been previously translated, and somewhere there sat a Russian with a copy of the speech ready to read it off in the same pace as Krasnov did. Naturally the radios themselves are specially made models on a German pattern using German tools.
[6] Note: Therefore the idea that the Soviet Union should cut itself of from the rest of the world is an idea that borders on the anti-social Means something like: Keep talkin', keep talkin', plenty of room in Siberia.
[7] Spanish Civil War, Communist lost this time around as well.
[8] If you say that no communist leader would ever say God will not forgive us if we fail you'd be wrong Brezhnev said just that, although not in the May Day Speech.
Norseman wrote:
[3] Likewise your hypothetical cynic might wonder why on Earth someone might make a 250mm AA gun, and might find upon closer inspection that it's not a gun but rather a piece of big pipe attached to an artillery mount. Then our hypothetical cynic would be shot for espionage, problem solved.
Norseman wrote:
[2] You would of course be wise to take any numbers Lapshov provides with a good heaping spoonful of salt.
Wow - two and a half years...
Anyway I too find it odd that the Soviet Union would vastly outproduce the Domination of Draka, even though the Soviet Union seems slightly more modern and industrialised in comparison to the Soviet Union in the OTL, perhaps less genocidal too with no Uncle Joe about; I get the impression Dominate Combines would produce a lot of products in huge quantities and with reasonable quality (Draka industry would probably be comparable to Soviet mass production but inferior to Western industries in "civilized" Europe and North America).
And why is the Security Directorate's service uniform is dark green? Why not black like the Allgemeine-SS or "honour guard" Waffen-SS? Anyway after reading most of Norseman's old (but very good) fanfics, I have some trouble imagining what the Drakans and their serf minions look like - and I find the gaudy jewellery a bit OTT, I kinda of imagine most Drakan Citizens would wear Western business suites or tropical/desert leasure gear.
Citizen soldiers would broadly resemble either the Afrika Korps or Waffen-SS in terms of service uniforms (but with broad brimmed hats), while the Janissary slave soldiers would broadly resemble something like a cross between a Japanese Imperial Army infantryman and British "Tommy" in terms of uniform, weapons and equipment.
Drakan Citizen tank crews and pilots would be geared up in leather/khaki jumpsuits and also wear leather helmets with radio link ups (like Soviet tank caps). I'd say the Drakan military would be a bizarre cross between the German and British military during WWII (fez like garrison caps would be standard head gear among the serf Auxiliaries and Janissaries, but not Citizens).
OK, this is weird, but I like to do a Draka fanfic.
Norseman wrote:
[2] You would of course be wise to take any numbers Lapshov provides with a good heaping spoonful of salt.
Wow - two and a half years...
I was surprised to see that this fic suddenly got attention but hey, it's good.
Big Orange wrote:Anyway I too find it odd that the Soviet Union would vastly outproduce the Domination of Draka, even though the Soviet Union seems slightly more modern and industrialised in comparison to the Soviet Union in the OTL, perhaps less genocidal too with no Uncle Joe about; I get the impression Dominate Combines would produce a lot of products in huge quantities and with reasonable quality (Draka industry would probably be comparable to Soviet mass production but inferior to Western industries in "civilized" Europe and North America).
Lapshov is a MGB (like KGB) minder, as I said take any numbers he gives you with a huge heaping spoonfull of salt!
Big Orange wrote:And why is the Security Directorate's service uniform is dark green? Why not black like the Allgemeine-SS or "honour guard" Waffen-SS?
Because that's how S.M. Stirling wrote them, and I do try to keep it as close as possible to his ideal.
Big Orange wrote:Anyway after reading most of Norseman's old (but very good) fanfics, I have some trouble imagining what the Drakans and their serf minions look like - and I find the gaudy jewellery a bit OTT, I kinda of imagine most Drakan Citizens would wear Western business suites or tropical/desert leasure gear.
Reading the books might help, also the Draka Appendices would also help. Note that the jewellery is straight from Stirling.
Their culture is a mixture of the American south and Prussia, they see themselves as aristocrats, bear that in mind.
Big Orange wrote:Citizen soldiers would broadly resemble either the Afrika Korps or Waffen-SS in terms of service uniforms (but with broad brimmed hats), while the Janissary slave soldiers would broadly resemble something like a cross between a Japanese Imperial Army infantryman and British "Tommy" in terms of uniform, weapons and equipment.
Drakan Citizen tank crews and pilots would be geared up in leather/khaki jumpsuits and also wear leather helmets with radio link ups (like Soviet tank caps). I'd say the Drakan military would be a bizarre cross between the German and British military during WWII (fez like garrison caps would be standard head gear among the serf Auxiliaries and Janissaries, but not Citizens).
OK, this is weird, but I like to do a Draka fanfic.
Also what you said is pretty much true, that is the approach we took later on. Check Divine Salamis maybe ask to be let into the Draka section, but do check the fanfic section there. Some of what you say hit the mark of the DrakaFic writers, other things don't.
You can PM me if you want, here or at Divine Salamis if you subscribe there. I'm always willing to answer questions.
. The Umak Weapon would teach them a whole new definition of biowarfare, right before it wiped them and their entire society from the multiverse for all time.
